


I Love It Here On The Range (I'd Love It More If It Changed)

by wesley2015remaster



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, and mentions of drug use, i listened to mama nantucket too much and now im here, just. a bunch of oc side characters, there's like one and a half sex scenes and they're not very explicit, theres a lotta homophobia its texas in the 60s what did u expect, they're cowboys what the hell!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesley2015remaster/pseuds/wesley2015remaster
Summary: Mike's been working on his cousin's ranch for three years and he's starting to lose hope.
Relationships: Micky Dolenz/Mike Nesmith
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1: City Boy

Mike thought that Bobby was a pathetic bastard, and he would have said that to his face if it wouldn’t significantly affect his chances of getting what he wanted.

“I don’t see why he’s gotta live in the barn, Bobby,” Mike said. “It just seems like overkill.”

Bobby only shrugged. “I’ve told you, Mike, there’s no room in the Little House,” he reasoned. “It’s outta my hands.”

It sure was out of his hands, alright. Mike wondered why he had even bothered to talk to Bobby at all when June was the one who was really running things around here. June, Mike’s cousin and Bobby’s wife, called all the shots and everyone on the ranch knew it – hell, even Richie and Lou knew it. If anything Richie and Lou  _ especially  _ knew that June was in charge with the way they grovelled to their older sister constantly. The only people who were the least bit intimidated by Bobby were the teenagers and poor bastards who came to work for them, and only because they never stuck around very long to find out what was what.

Mike  _ would  _ have gone to June first if Bobby hadn’t been easier to convince on his good days. It was once in a blue moon, but every now and then he could make some minor changes if he really put his mind to it (or if his ego overcame his laziness. Mike's problem, however, was that this was in direct conflict with both Bobby's ego and his laziness).

“Hell, I’ll let the kid have my room,” Mike argued.

“Sleepin’ in the same bed as him?” Bobby smirked in a way that was almost a sneer. “Richie ‘n’ Lou’ll never let you live it down.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Mike frowned, curling his hands into fists. He could have punched Bobby for that comment, but he held back. Bobby was shorter than him, but he was stockier. Mike had thought that working on a ranch for years would have made him gain some muscle mass, but he had stayed as scrawny as ever, with only blisters on his heels and calluses on his hands to show for his hard work. And anyway, punching Bobby would help his chances of convincing him as much as calling him a pathetic bastard would. “How can you expect him to be productive if he’s sleepin’ in a barn every night?”

“He’ll live,” Bobby assured Mike, with that same annoying smirk plastered on his face.

Bobby didn’t care about the kid’s productivity and they both knew it. If he left, another skinny kid in need of a job and a place to stay would take his place as they always did. The only consistent staff on the ranch were The Family – June, Bobby, Richie, Lou and Mike – and that was only because they couldn’t quit as easily. (Mike prayed to the Lord that his siblings were smart enough to avoid working on their cousins’ ranch when they turned old enough. May they learn from his mistakes).

No, this wasn’t about productivity or lack of space or whatever excuse Bobby made. The only reason Bobby was willing to uphold June’s orders this time was because he enjoyed testing this new kid. The boy was indebted to him for some reason, Mike didn’t know what, and Bobby was willing to see how far he could be pushed until enough was enough. He liked holding it over the boy’s head.

Mike hadn’t spoken to Micky Dolenz yet, but he had heard what people (mostly Richie and Lou) said about him. He had only been there a week and had supposedly lasted longer than anyone had expected him to already. He had noticed Richie and Lou placing bets on how long they thought he would stick around (the verdict being less than two weeks at most after he had exceeded their expectations those first seven days). Apparently he was a city boy, California born and raised, with a bad leg and rumoured to be queer. And even if he wasn’t queer, that wouldn’t stop Richie and Lou from cackling about it behind his back and at the dinner table.

Mike had gotten a few glimpses of him from afar, his long legs and wild curly hair and (if he got close enough) his small pug nose and big chin. Sure, the kid was stumbling and awkward and had obviously never had to work very hard in his whole life, but he seemed enthusiastic enough to make up for it. Overzealous, maybe, but that wasn’t a crime.

Lou and Richie had even gotten some of the other guys working for them in on the joke, which seemed unnecessarily cruel to Mike – the kid was already sleeping in a barn for Christ’s sake, hadn’t they done enough? If it hadn’t been for their insistence on proving Micky was anything less than heterosexual, Mike would have just told him to take his room in the Big House by the end of the first week, June and Bobby be damned. But even if he had slept on the couch in the living room, someone would still talk.

They didn’t give Micky much of the hard work to do, mostly feeding the animals, collecting water from the well, cleaning the barn - the menial stuff nobody else wanted to do. He often helped the stable-girl, Jo, out with the horses if he had the time. It wasn’t like the boy was a slacker, so Mike didn’t understand why his family seemed to have it out for him. Someone had to be the whipping boy, Mike supposed, and he should have just been glad that it wasn’t him.

Speaking to Bobby had only served to frustrate Mike, and with nothing else to cool off his temper, he had taken one of the horses around the ranch to blow off some steam. He didn’t go very far or very fast but being away from all the people was enough to level him out. It was still lunch time when he had gone out, and he had expected most people to be eating and resting. And most people were, except for Micky Dolenz.

Mike had seen him as he rode past the well, staggering back to the barn with a bucket in each hand. Micky had probably tripped and spilled all the water on the way back and had to refill the buckets, hence why he was still out at lunch time. That, or someone (probably Lou) hadn’t let him take a break.

It was far too hot in the middle of the day to be out. Even Mike, who had lived in Texas his whole life, was sweating underneath the dry, unrelenting sun. He was still some distance from Micky, but he had seen him set the buckets down several times to wipe sweat from his brow and fan himself with his hat.

Mike slowed down even more as he approached Micky, the horse walking along at a gentle and steady pace.  _ Just say hello to him. You’re gonna have to speak to him eventually.  _ But he couldn’t. He didn’t get close enough to Micky to call out to him, he wasn’t even close enough to see the curls that stuck out from underneath his hat, or the ring that he sometimes wore on his pinkie instead of his ring finger.

Mike had gotten a little closer (still not very close at all) but still, he did not say hello. It felt strange having heard so many things about the boy (though he couldn’t be sure how many things were true), and yet he had never spoken to him. It was probably the same on Micky’s side, though; the staff in the Little House were bound to have talked about Mike and his family amongst themselves at some point. He wondered if the things they said about him were as hurtful as the things Lou would say about Micky. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were.

Micky had caught Mike staring from across the field as he stopped once again to give his arms a break from carrying the heavy buckets. He waved. Mike nodded in return, tipping his wide-brimmed hat downward bashfully, and turned the horse around to go back to the stables. It was too damn hot out.

He had other chores to do during the day, none of which lead him to see Micky around. That night, after surviving dinner with his family, he took a walk outside with his guitar, breathing in the fresh air. He spent most of his days outside, and the concept of ‘getting some fresh air’ wasn’t anything special after years of life in the country, but the still and quiet air of night, cooler than during the daytime, never really lost its appeal. It didn’t to Mike, at least.

Most of the ranch was flat, empty plains, but around the houses and barns and stables there was a little bit of greenery, a little garden with an old swing set that hadn’t been used since June, Richie and Lou were kids, and some tall trees that provided shade and stretched up to the sky. They would have been beautiful had most of the plants not been dry and yellowing, and the swing set not been run down and rusted. But still, there was a kind of charm about them that Mike liked nonetheless, and the flaws were certainly hidden in the dark of the night.

Mike didn’t feel like being bothered by his family tonight – Richie, especially, was inclined towards picking on him for his music – so he stuck to the gardens around the Little House, where the staff stayed. Maybe he would even say hello to Jo; she had been there the longest of all of them (still not all that long) and had always been kind to him.  _ Maybe later.  _ For now he sat in the garden, a ways away from the window with the light on, on a picnic bench where he had spent his summers as a kid eating lunches underneath the shade of the trees with his Aunt and his cousins and younger siblings.

He plucked out a little melody on his guitar, strummed a song or two, sang a little tune to pass the time. He had been playing a while when he looked up and saw a silhouette of someone in the window, watching him. A silhouette with fuzzy curls. Then another silhouette, Jo, talking to him, and Micky was talking back. Maybe Micky hadn’t been watching him at all. Maybe he had just happened to be at the window, and Mike was feeling too self-important. Anyway, he was leaving his place at the window now, and in no time Mike saw him again at the front door of the house, calling to Jo, waving goodbye as he made his way to the barn. Mike watched him, his features lit by the light escaping the front door and falling across the patio of the house. He was smiling jovially, waving expressively, walking back to the barn with an animated kind of energy.

Mike stayed quiet in the shadows, hoping not to be seen, but perhaps Micky had felt his gaze anyway, because he waved to him from the path and called, “Heya!”

“Howdy,” Mike said, waving, but he had been too quiet for Micky to hear.

Mike didn’t go see Jo. Soon after Micky had waved to him he went back to the Big House to find June hunched over paperwork in the study, a single reading light turned on in the dim room. Her blonde hair was falling from where it was tied up in a bun in messy curls. His guitar was still slung across his back. He could hear Beth, the maid, doing the dishes in the kitchen.

“Not now, Mike,” she told him upon entering the room.

“I won’t be very long. I just wanted to ask,” Mike said carefully. “How long’ll the Dolenz boy be in the barn for?”

June looked to him with a disconnected expression, lips pressed in a thin line and eyes glassy and spaced out, and Mike knew that there was no convincing her on nights like this. She sighed and turned back to the paperwork. “I don’t know. Until we can find some space for him.”

Mike bit his lip. He decided to test his luck (though Mike had never had much luck in his lifetime). “I could let him have my room. I-I could sleep in the barn or on the couch or – “

“Why do you care?” She asked, every word she said sounding like a sigh. She didn’t look at him again. She hadn’t accused him of anything as obviously as Bobby had, but she never had to be apparent in her words for them to sting. There were still implications.

“I just want what’s best for the ranch,” Mike argued, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Well, you’re not in charge,” June said, more assertively now. “Frankly, you’re pretty low in the pecking order, so let me ‘n’ Bobby handle things.”

Mike could tell his temper was about to get the better of him.  _ If only he could have his way _ … But Richie had entered, standing in the open archway that lead from the living room to the study, distracting Mike from any argument he could make. Richie had apparently not heard much of the conversation.

“Hey Mikey, gonna play somethin’ for us on your gee-tar?” He teased, slapping him on the shoulder. Mike ignored him and turned back to June.

“Where’s Bobby?” Mike asked.

“In town. I don’t know,” she shrugged. Richie looked between the two of them.

“What’s Mike in here for?” He asked June.

“He wants the Dolenz boy outta the barn,” she explained. Mike blushed red, knowing what was coming next.

“Oh!” Richie hooted, cracking a smile, his hand returning to Mike’s shoulder. The gesture wasn’t friendly. Even if he was ‘just joking around’, there was still malice. “Got yourself a crush on the city slicker, huh?”

Mike wanted to tell him to piss off. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t go picking fights with his family. Instead he rolled his eyes nonchalantly and ascended the stairs to his room. Wherever Richie was, Lou wasn’t very far behind, and once the two of them got started they didn’t stop, and Mike didn’t want to be there for it.

“Your boyfriend waiting for you up there, Mikey?” Richie called after him.

“Quit your hollerin’, Rich,” June scolded him before Mike closed the door on the noise.

He set his guitar down against the wall and laid on his creaky bed in his clothes and boots. It had been pleasant outside but in his room it was too hot to get underneath the covers and he was sweating uncomfortably.

It was loneliest at night. During the day he was usually so busy he didn’t spend much of his downtime thinking about it, but at night he didn’t have much else to pass the time. He didn’t always mind. It gave him something to write about. It was almost a comfort at this point, it had been with him so long. He remembered when he had first arrived at the ranch, a little after his aunt had died, and he had felt so lonely and homesick he couldn’t stand it. He wrote to his ma every other day and called up his siblings every night. Now he could deal with it better. The strangeness of a new environment had worn off quick and hadn’t been a problem for years now. But still, none of the staff that weren’t blood related stayed with them long enough to make friends and he’d had nobody but his family for three years.

His cousins were dysfunctional, and he just about couldn’t stand them most of the time, but they were his family. This was his home. They would never say it to his face, but they needed him, and Mike couldn’t just abandon them. No, Mike could get by just fine with his own company. He had his guitar and his work to keep him busy and he didn’t need much else.


	2. Thank You For Your Wine, California

It seemed Mike couldn’t avoid Micky Dolenz any longer – they saw each other another three times in the next week.

It was early in the morning and Mike was getting his daily round of checking on the cattle out of the way, travelling across the ranch on horseback. He had hardly left the stable when Micky caught his eye, leaving the barn with two buckets in one hand and placing his hat on his head. On a whim, before he had time to talk himself out of it, Mike approached. He didn’t know what had urged him forward.

Micky heard the horse’s hooves and turned his head to face Mike, squinting up at him through the sun that was coming up behind him. They walked side by side, Micky on foot, Mike on his horse.

“Hey, Dolenz,” Mike said to him. “Need a lift?”

Micky shrugged. “Sure.”

“Where ya goin’ to?” Mike asked, though he had an idea he knew the answer.

“Just to the well,” Micky said. Mike’s assumption had been correct. Micky looked apprehensively at the horse. “Um… How do I get on?” Micky nodded to the horse.

“Here,” Mike said, holding out his hand. “Give me the buckets first.”

Micky followed his instruction, stacking one in the other and handing them over. Mike held them and the reins in one hand and kept the other free. He twisted around a bit and moved his foot out of the stirrup, then held his free hand out to Micky.

“Now take my hand and step up with this,” he nudged the stirrup with the heel of his boot. “Swing your other leg over and hold onto my waist once you’re up.”

Once again, Micky followed Mike’s instructions, gripping his hand tightly and pushing himself up and onto the back of the horse. It was a tight fit with the two of them on the saddle, but Micky figured it was better than walking. Mike, however, was severely regretting his offer. Micky’s hand in his, and now his hands clinging to his waist – if Richie or Lou saw this they would have a field day.

“I’m gonna start goin’ now,” Mike warned Micky, figuring he should just get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

The horse started walking at a slow pace – not used to two passengers instead of one – and still, Micky’s hands tightened around Mike’s waist. He could feel the press of Micky’s fingertips through the fabric of his shirt, which was bunching underneath his grip.

They sped up and Mike heard Micky’s sharp intake of breath as he clenched his waist tighter. Mike’s stomach dropped – and it wasn’t because of the speed of the horse.

“That hurts, boy,” Mike grunted. Micky’s grip slackened.

“Sorry.”

Fortunately for Mike, it was early, and the other people on the ranch hadn’t migrated very far from the central area with the barns and houses for their jobs yet. Mike tried to tell himself that there was nothing amiss with simply riding double on a horse with Micky (it was simply practicality). But  _ something  _ about it felt scandalous, and he couldn’t shake his self-consciousness. Maybe it was Micky’s firm hands, or the breath he could feel on his neck. Mike felt flushed as the sun shone in his eyes. He was just glad nobody would be around to witness it; the sooner they got to the well, the better.

Mike breathed a sigh of relief that he was sure Micky had felt when he finally saw the old well in the distance. They came to a stop, Mike giving the horse a small pat on the neck and swinging himself off. Micky did not move, only held onto the front of the saddle with both hands and looked apprehensively to Mike.

“Here,” Mike said. He set the buckets down and placed one hand above Micky’s hip, holding the other one out for him to take. God help him, all of this contact was going to be the death of him. Micky took his hand and pulled himself off the horse; Mike grunted quietly under Micky’s weight.

Micky let go, his feet firmly on the ground, and smiled at Mike, then dusted his hands on his jeans. He got to work, picking up the buckets and taking them to the well. Mike should have been off to check on the cattle, but he stayed with Micky anyway, leaning on the well and watching him. He had his ring on his ring finger today. A pack of cigarettes was poking out of his pocket.

“Thanks for helping me out,” Micky said. Then he smirked impishly as he said, “I knew I shouldn’t’ve believed what people say about you.”

“It’s noth– what's that supposed to mean?” Mike asked, with half of a chuckle and an incredulous look on his face. Micky’s smile became wider, brighter, more mischievous.

“Nothing,” Micky teased. Had Mike known Micky a little better, he would have taken the bait and insisted on knowing what he had meant. But Mike had only spoken to him for the first time that day, and he tended to get antsy around strangers. And he had already spent most of the morning overwhelmed and flustered.

Mike returned to the horse, swung himself over, ready to leave, when he stole one last look at Micky. He had filled both buckets, and was now struggling to lift them, his face either bright red from embarrassment or from the effort.

“Lift with your knees,” Mike told him. “And instead of going along the path, you’re gonna wanna cut through them trees there – “ Mike pointed to where he was telling Micky to go “ – it’s quicker’n it’ll bring you to the other side of the barn.”

Micky fanned himself with his hat, his curls springing out around him. Mike thought it a shame that they had to be hidden underneath a hat all the time, but he supposed it would be an even bigger shame for Micky to ruin his face by getting sunburnt.

“Thanks, man,” he huffed.

“See ya, Dolenz,” Mike nodded, tipped his hat down as a goodbye, and rode away. His face was still flushed, as it had been from the moment Micky had gotten on the horse with him, pressed up against his back. He couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.

Mike wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew what that morning had meant, and that was why he knew he had to stay away from Micky. It was for the best, to nip this in the bud.

Avoiding Micky, however, proved to be an impossible task.

The second time they saw each other that week, Mike was putting away tools in the barn when he smelt smoke. He discarded the tools before investigating, not too worried about finding the source. He knew the difference between cigarette smoke and fire smoke, and this was not the latter. Still, his curiosity got the better of him.

Mike followed the smoke to a corner of the barn sectioned off by two wooden pillars and hidden by a tractor. This part of the barn held only piles of square hay bales, and sitting on top of them was Micky Dolenz himself, smoking a cigarette and swinging his legs back and forth. Micky grinned at him; his mouth closed.

“You caught me,” he said, offering the cigarette to Mike. Had it been anyone else, he would have been more worried about being caught slacking off, but he wasn’t particularly intimidated by Mike.

Mike knew he should have left if he knew what was good for him. He had work to do, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to find an excuse. But he had a habit of letting his curiosity come out on top over his other priorities. So, he climbed up onto the hay bales and took the cigarette Micky was passing to him.

“What’re you doin’ in here, boy?” Mike asked.

“Hiding,” Micky replied, wearing an impish grin that Mike had seen the first time they had spoken. “And you can call me Micky, you know.” Micky took a drag from the cigarette. “You Texans, always calling me ‘boy’ or ‘Dolenz’, do you do that to everyone or am I just special?”

Mike blushed lightly. He decided to play along a bit, if only to not make things awkward between them. “You’re just special,” he said, putting on a smirk. Maybe that had been a little too forward. He hadn’t meant to sound flirtatious, only good-natured. He decided to distract Micky from what he had said. “What’re you hiding for? Or from, I suppose.”

“I spilled a bunch of the dogs’ food,” Micky explained. “Bobby and Lou weren’t too happy about that.”

“Bobby’s probably on one of his power trips again,” Mike sighed, taking the cigarette from Micky’s hand even though he hadn’t offered. His lips lingered a little too long on it. If Bobby was feeling antagonistic, then Lou was probably only making it worse, egging him on from the sidelines and feeding off of his brother-in-law’s energy. When he and Bobby really got going … well, it was probably best that Micky was staying out of their way. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much; he’ll cool off by tomorrow.”

Mike handed the cigarette back to Micky and took a good look at his surroundings. It wasn’t often he had to go into the barn.

“This where you’re sleepin’?” Mike asked, patting the hay bale they were sitting on. Micky shook his head and pointed to the other side of the barn, where there was a rolled out sleeping bag on the ground, a duffel bag, and an unlit lantern.

“Over there,” he said. Mike pursed his lips.

“If it was up to me, you’d be in the Little House,” he said, revealing that it was something he had tried to fight for.

“There’s not enough space,” Micky reasoned.

“I’d figure out a way,” Mike argued. He didn’t mention how he had already offered to let Micky stay in his room. He had already been too forward by telling Micky he had tried to get him out of the barn, telling him  _ that  _ detail would have been far too much. Mike’s voice quietened to a mumble. “And anyway, it ain’t up to me, so.”

Micky gave him a strange look as he flicked away ash from his cigarette. “You really aren’t like how they said you are,” Micky chuckled. “Well, you are but you aren’t.”

“How do they say I am?” Mike asked, his incredulous look returning. On second thought, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how the staff saw him. But Micky would tell him anyway.

“They say you’re a grumpy, sullen bastard,” Micky said, impish grin returning as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “Which – “ he shrugged “May be a little true. But you’re also one of the only people here who’s been nice to me.”

Micky laughed at Mike’s awkward expression, light and airy.

“My people talk about you, too, you know,” Mike said, unsure of why he had brought the topic to that. He didn’t think Micky should hear the kind of things his family said about him, though he guessed the boy had some idea.

“Yeah?” Micky asked. “All good things, I hope.”

“You really got a bad leg?” Mike asked, thinking that was one of the less sensitive topics that were discussed alongside the name ‘Micky Dolenz’.

“Yup,” Micky answered. “My hip acts up, mostly. It just cramps and aches sometimes. No biggy. I was sick as a kid.”

“Oh,” Mike said, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s alright, it doesn’t hold me back all that much,” he shrugged. “I haven’t got it that bad.”

The cigarette was down to the filter now. As if to prove his point about not having it too bad, Micky jumped from the hay bales and crushed the smoke under his boot. Mike followed suit, then brushed off the hay from his pants.

“I should get back to work,” he said. He held out his hand and Micky shook it. A strangely formal gesture. “Thanks for the smoke and the conversation, Micky.”

Mike decided that when they had spoken a few days ago was just a fluke. His heart wasn’t even pounding after speaking to Micky this time. He was likely just lonely and awkward around strangers and his mind was playing tricks with him.

The next day Mike was keeping himself busy helping Jo sweep the stables when he heard someone enter. He looked up to see who it was. Lou stood in the doorway, the sun shining behind him and making it hard for Mike to see him clearly.

He entered the stable with his thumbs hanging from the belt loops on his jeans. He had blond hair like June’s, wavy and short, and was thin, wiry and as tall as Mike. Jo had stopped her sweeping when Lou had come in, waiting to see if he needed him. He nodded to her, then turned to Mike, so she kept with her sweeping.

“A tree’s fallen down in the north end of the pasture,” Lou said. “June asked me to tell you to take care’f it.”

“Right,” Mike nodded, setting aside his broom.

“If y’need any help,” Lou said, bringing Mike’s attention back to him. “The Dolenz kid should be free.”

Mike wasn’t sure if that was some kind of joke, or bait, or way of teasing Mike. The quirk of Lou’s lips told him it probably was. If anything, however, it was most likely more of a slight towards Micky than it was Mike. Mike just happened to have been in the position to get caught up in the middle of it. 

With that, Lou left as quickly as he had come.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help ya out more, Jo,” Mike apologised. Jo shrugged and continued sweeping.

“It’s alright, Mike,” she said. Her ponytail swung behind her head as she worked, brown hair shining caramel in the light that was streaming through the door.

“D’ya happen to know where Micky is?” He asked. She rested her hands on the top of the broom handle and leaned her cheek over them, thinking.

“He’ll probably be in the barn,” she said. “If not, he might be having an early lunch at the house.”

“Thanks,” he said simply, already half out the door, going to check the barn first. When Micky wasn’t there, Mike left for the house (first grabbing the axe while he was in the barn, so he didn’t have to make another trip back).

That was the third time he saw Micky that week, walking in on him making a sandwich in the kitchen. Nobody else was in the Little House, and Micky looked to the door when he heard it open. There they were, looking at each other from either side of the house.

“Hey, Mike,” he said, continuing with his sandwich. “We just can’t stop running into each other, huh?”

“I was actually looking for you this time,” Mike replied, somewhat shyly at Micky pointing out his failure to avoid him. “I got a job to do and Lou said you could help.”

“Oh,” Micky sighed, looking mournfully at his sandwich.

“It’s pretty far on the ranch,” Mike explained. “Just gettin’ rid of a fallen tree, but we’ll take the pickup instead of the horses so we can bring some wood back if it’s any good. Might be easier on the horse, too, considering you’d have to go double with me.”  _ Might be easier on me, as well.  _ He was sure the other day had been a fluke, but he didn’t want to test his chances.

Micky liked the plain and simple way Mike ran him through the plan. There was nothing condescending about his tone like there was with Lou, and he wasn’t intentionally holding back instructions with the purpose of watching him fail, like Bobby and Richie did.

Micky placed his sandwich back on the plate, trying to find a container or something to put it in the fridge and save it for later. But Mike noticed and said, “If y’can eat it fast, y’can take it with ya. I won’t tell June you were eatin’ in the car.”

Micky seemed to take that as a challenge, as he had scoffed the whole thing down before they had even gotten to the car. He was licking his fingers clean as he opened the door to the pickup truck. Mike wondered if there would ever be a moment when he was with Micky that he wouldn’t be wearing a disbelieving look on his face at some point.

Mike drove the car up the back end of the pasture to the north where Lou had said the tree was. It was a lot more comfortable than trying to fit two people on one horse. Micky was flicking buttons on the radio, trying to find a station playing something he liked, but they had stopped outside the gate before he could decide on anything.

Mike hopped out of the car and Micky trailed behind him. Micky had taken his hat off in the car, and Mike had gotten another look at his curls. They looked like he had been sleeping in a barn, but Mike couldn’t tell if it was because he  _ had  _ been sleeping in a barn, or if they were just naturally wild.

Mike unlatched the gate, being careful not to get his finger caught in the latch (he had made that mistake in the past and it had hurt like a bitch), and held it open for Micky. Micky was scouting around, looking for the tree they were supposed to be getting rid of. Mike knew where to look – there was a small cropping of trees around the border of the pasture, and he assumed one of them had fallen over the fence. He lead the way, with Micky following behind him, a bounce in his step.

“I don’t know why Lou trusted me to help you with this,” Micky rambled, for the sake of making conversation. “Not that I’m gonna slack off or whatever, but he usually doesn’t send me much further out than the well.”

Mike didn’t have the heart to tell him his own theories why Micky had been tasked with helping him: because Lou thought that Micky would be barely any help at all, or because he had heard about Mike’s insistence on Micky being out of the barn from Richie, and this was some kind of game to annoy Mike. The former was entirely possible – Lou might have just wanted Micky out of his hair for a while. The latter was also plausible – the suggestion of taking Micky might have just been a small dig at Mike, without expecting him to actually ask the boy for help (Mike could have easily done the job himself). Either way, Lou’s reasoning was almost certainly not with the best intentions.

“I think everyone else was busy,” Mike mumbled. It wasn’t exactly a kind thing to say. It still suggested Micky wasn’t valued highly by Lou, but Mike didn’t want to outright lie to him, and that was better than the alternative. Still, he felt a pang of guilt in his gut when Micky appeared a little downcast at his comment. “But I’m glad you were free. I’d trust you more’n some of the other guys.”

“Yeah?” Micky asked. Mike wondered, once again if he had stepped over a line, gotten too friendly too quick. But Micky didn’t seem to mind much. Maybe that was how they did things in California.

“Yeah,” Mike said anyway. “Brian’s lazy as all hell, he just gets away with it because he hangs with Richie a lot, and Dan’s always got somethin’ to prove and bites off more’n he can chew.”

“I heard Dan was thinking of taking off,” Micky told him. Mike nodded.

“Yeah, they always do, after a while,” he said with a sigh. “Can’t say I blame ‘em. Won’t be long ‘fore you’re heading for the hills.”

“Is that a challenge?” Micky asked with a smile. “Are you underestimating me?”

“The Nesmith ranch doesn’t exactly have a good track record with staff, ‘s all,” Mike shrugged.

Their conversation was cut short as they found the tree they were looking for. Luckily for them, it was small and wouldn’t take much effort to dispose of. Unluckily, it was dead. Not much good wood was going to come from it. On the positive side, however, was that it meant less work. Although, the tree had fallen over the fence and damaged it, and fence maintenance was Mike’s jurisdiction, which therefore meant more work for him later. He thought that neutralised the situation overall.  _ Oh well, might as well just get on with it. _

“Can it be used for firewood or something?” Micky asked.

“Naw, it’s not worth the effort,” Mike explained, tapping the tree with his boot and hearing a small crack. “It’s too small. Might as well just leave it for the animals.”

“How do we get rid of it, then?” Micky inquired.

“Well, it’s been pulled up by the roots, see?” Mike said, pointing to the base of the tree. “So we don’t gotta dig it up or anything. If we snap off the branches, maybe chop it up a bit so it’s lighter, we can just lift it over to the other side of the fence’n leave it for critters to make a home in.”

“Okay, then …” Micky trailed off, starting to snap off branches and throw them over the wire fence. Mike did the same after discarding the axe on the ground nearby.

“Be careful about splinters,” Mike warned him. Micky gave him a smile, his face angled downwards but his eyes looking up at Mike. It was a smile that Mike couldn’t read.

Micky found, once again, that he liked the matter-of-fact way that Mike relayed instructions. He didn’t act like he was stupid when he asked questions. He explained things, clear as day, and didn’t even laugh in his face as he did it. He would have been good at leading the ranch if he weren’t so shy. But, then again, what did Micky know about Mike? Or about the ranch?

“I think I’d like to learn how to ride a horse,” Micky said. “You know, before I head for the hills.”

Mike snapped off a branch with a loud crack. “I could teach you when we get back.”

“Really?” Micky asked. “Today?”

“Yeah,” Mike shrugged as he tossed the branch over the fence. “I’ve taught loads of kids that come work for us.”

“ _ Oh _ , so I’m not the first boy you’ve done this with,” Micky said, the same smile he had worn before that Mike couldn’t read. He was starting to get an idea what that smile meant. He blushed.

Mike wasn’t entirely sure how to reply to that – was Micky only joking? Was he trying to trick Mike into taking the bait? He didn’t want to look stupid by telling Micky he wasn’t no queer if it had only been a light-hearted tease. He certainly didn’t want to play along. Fortunately, he needn’t figure out a comeback, for the branches had all been broken off and tossed away. With one last look to Micky that he hoped would serve as some kind of response in lieu of actually speaking, he turned to grab the axe.

“You’ll wanna take a step back,” he told Micky. Micky backed away as he raised the axe. Mike tried to keep his feet clear of where the trunk of the tree would fall as he swung. The diseased wood was easy to cut.

Mike axed the tree into quarters, trying not to notice how Micky was watching him as he did so. He took off his hat, huffed, and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt in a way that was mostly for show than anything.

“That should do it,” Mike nodded at his handiwork. He grabbed up the sections of the tree he had cut off and threw them over the fence with the branches. Then he motioned to the base of the tree. “Help me push it over to the other side.”

Micky followed him without question. With the two of them it was quick and easy work, and in no time they were driving back to the stables in the pickup.

“You still wanna learn how to ride a horse?” Mike asked as he slammed the door of the truck behind him.

“Absolutely,” Micky replied, a smile on his face that was positively infectious.

Jo was still in the stable when Micky and Mike retrieved the horses.

“So you found him,” she said, upon seeing Micky (who seemed confused at the comment).

“Yeah, we just got back,” Mike explained while grabbing a saddle. “Gonna teach him to ride the horses if you wanted to come with. I know you already know how, but…”

Jo looked between the two of them for a moment, then shook her head. “Naw, I got work to do.”

“Suit yourself,” Mike shrugged.

Mike had lead two of the horses out into the paddock and brought Micky over to the gentler of the two. He held the horse by the reins.

“Come stand on the left side,” Mike instructed. “And take the reins and hold them loose.”

Micky followed Mike’s lead and looked at him expectantly. They were standing close, so that Mike could see a light dusting of freckles over Micky’s cheeks that were barely visible. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“Left foot in the stirrup,” Mike said, looking down at Micky’s boots instead of his face. “You’re gonna wanna put your weight on the ball of your foot, not the heel. Well … you knew that part already – “ Mike scratched his head. “Anyway, just put your weight on it and swing over like when you were with me.”

“What if I fall?” Micky asked, almost meekly.

“I’m right here,” Mike assured him. “I won’t let you fall.”

Micky nodded, shook his hands a little bit to psyche himself up, and plunged forward. He didn’t fall, and didn’t appear as though he would fall, but Mike still kept his hand on Micky’s lower back for a moment to assure Micky that he would stay balanced. Micky winced, trying to keep it subtle, but Mike had seen anyway.

“Y’alright, Mick?” he asked, not sure what was wrong, and worried because he did not know.

“Yeah, it just hurt my hip for a sec there,” he chuckled lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

“We can stop if you need to,” Mike said.

“No,” Micky replied, shaking his head. “It’s alright now, I just had to adjust my weight.”

Mike nodded warily. Micky fiddled with the reins.

“What’s next?” Micky asked. Mike finally lifted his hand from Micky’s back to adjust the stirrups as Micky watched him.

“Wait here,” Mike said once he was done, then turned to his own horse. Once he was up, he rode closer to Micky to help him. “When you want to stop, wait for the horse to slow down, say ‘woah’ and pull  _ gently  _ on the reins.”

“How do I start?” Micky asked.

“I was getting to that part,” Mike replied. “Squeeze him gently with your legs and he’ll start goin’. Make sure not to kick him too hard or you’ll definitely be falling, and I won’t be able to catch you.”

He watched Micky bite his lip in hesitation before he eventually followed Mike’s orders. While he had moments of apprehension, Micky seemed to rarely give up on anything he had committed to, and Mike admired that about him. Micky’s eyes widened as the horse started walking, and he had to bite back a shriek. “I’m doing it, Mike!”

“You are,” Mike said with a light chuckle. Micky was grinning from ear to ear. Mike had the sense that, though this was only their third meeting, they had known each other for a much longer time. Which was silly, Mike knew that. It was the kind of airy fairy sentimentality that didn’t quite fit with his lifestyle of sweat and labour and toiling in the heat of the sun. Sentiment and sensitivity was best left for the people who had the hours to waste on it, who could contemplate it in poetry and paintings. But Mike was an artist at heart, too, and always had been, no matter his circumstances, and he often found himself privy to more romantic ideals than his peers. Regardless, he shook the thought away (no matter how hard it tried to cling to him). He was being soppy because he had been lonely for so long, and Micky was simply a friendly person. No need to get attached.

It wasn’t long before Micky was begging to go faster, confident that he could handle it. Mike was wary of Micky getting in too deep too quick, but he had been a fast learner, and wouldn’t quit his begging.

They hadn’t been out very long, but Mike had a fence he had to fix, and Micky was probably needed for some chore or another. They had hardly gotten off of their horses before they heard a voice behind them.

“What’re you two doin’?” Lou asked. Micky’s smile lessened and he fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves. Mike turned to face him.

“I was teachin’ Dolenz to ride the horses,'' Mike explained. Lou’s face twisted, though it always looked at least a little bit sour. Still, he must have been in one of his moods.

“Get back to work,” he ordered, before walking away once more.

“Yes, sir,” Mike muttered while his back was turned, and Micky had to supress a snicker at his eye rolling. He scratched the back of his head. “I-I should get goin’.”

“Me too,” Micky agreed. “Thanks for that, man. I had a groovy time.”

“Thanks for helpin’ with the tree,'' Mike said in return. Micky held out his hand to shake, and Mike took it one last time. Then he turned and left. Such was how Mike’s third and last encounter with Micky that week ended, with the memory of how his hand had felt in his.


	3. Are You Ready For The Country?

Mike was coming back from a job when he saw Bobby approaching.  _ One job to another, always something to do. _ He pretended he didn’t see Bobby coming until he was right beside him. Then he looked up.

“The sheep need shearin’” Bobby told him. “Everyone else is too busy to do it, so you’re gonna have to manage by yourself.”

Mike thought for a moment. It wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do alone and would take double the time. He wondered if everyone else had truly been ‘busy’ like Bobby had said or if they just didn’t want to do it. “I can take the Dolenz kid.”

“Are you sure about that?” Bobby asked, quirking an eyebrow. For once, it wasn’t Bobby questioning Mike’s misplaced opinions of Micky, but more questioning Micky’s ability.

“We don’t got too many sheep,” Mike reasoned, downplaying his belief in Micky just in case Bobby’s line of questioning turned in the other direction. “And I’ll be doin’ most’a the work.”

Bobby shrugged,  _ suit yourself,  _ and left Mike to find Micky. He wasn’t too hard to find, tending to stick to the barn, the Little House and the stables. He found Micky in the barn, smoking in the corner again. When Micky saw him he smirked playfully and stubbed out the cigarette.

“You’re with me today,” Mike told him, nodding his head as a sign for Micky to follow him out.

“Lucky me,” Micky said. “What’re we doing?”

“Shearing sheep,” Mike answered. Micky raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve never gotten to see the sheep pen!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Really?” Mike asked. “Didn’t anybody show you around when you first got here?”

Micky shook his head. Mike blew out a breath.

“We don’t got many sheep anyways,” he said. “Just a few to sell the wool ‘n’ get some extra money outside of the cattle business. If you ask me, they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

Mike found the dogs on the porch of the Big House and whistled them over. Micky watched as he crouched down to give them an affectionate pat before they bounded off down the road ahead of them.

“Someone’s already taken the car,” Mike told Micky as he stood. “It’s within walking distance, but it’s a bit further out.”

“Okay,” Micky said. He didn’t know why Mike felt the need to warn him, as if he would want to back out just because it would take a bit of extra effort. Something like this was more interesting to him than the menial chores he would be wasting time on instead (and, besides that, he enjoyed the company. He had to admit it got lonely with nobody but Jo wanting to speak to him).

The walk was long, and the sun was sweltering high in the sky, the dry terrain crunched beneath their feet. Micky was whistling a tune that Mike couldn’t quite place and wasn’t sure if it was just something he was making up on the spot. It didn’t take long for Micky to start talking – he could never stay quiet for very long.

“So are June ‘n’ Richie ‘n’ Lou your siblings or whatever?” Micky asked. “Because you don’t really look like any of them. Or are you on Bobby’s side?”

“They’re my cousins,” Mike explained. It was true that he didn’t look anything like any of them. Lou and June both had the same blonde hair with soft waves curling through, and Richie had inherited their mother’s mousy brown hair. They had softer features, small, upturned noses and doe eyes. Mike’s hair was dark brown, almost black, his nose was long, and his eyes gave him a shrewd appearance. He supposed he had always been the black sheep from the moment he had arrived at the ranch, even if just in appearance.

“Oh,” Micky said. “So what brought you here then?”

Mike shrugged and kicked a rock that was in his path. “I turned eighteen, needed a way to make money and didn’t wanna join the army.” The rock scattered and bounced in Micky’s direction, and he took a turn at kicking it. “Did you miss your home when you first came here? Because I was homesick as all hell, and I wasn’t even that far away.  _ And  _ I had a warm bed and a family still.” Mike needn’t finish his thought by saying out loud that those were luxuries Micky couldn’t afford.

“I still feel homesick,” Micky chuckled, a hint of bitterness coming from the back of his throat. “A sleeping bag on the floor of a barn isn’t exactly … welcoming.” Micky hadn’t mentioned how the people on the ranch hadn’t exactly been very welcoming either, but something inside of Mike knew that he was thinking it. He felt a pit in his stomach. He imagined that the guilt he felt was much like accidentally swallowing a cherry seed, bracing himself for the cyanide to kill him. Micky’s circumstances hadn’t been his fault, but still, he felt as if he hadn’t done enough.

“I swear, Micky,” Mike said. “I-I wanna get you outta there. I’ll try.”

“Space’ll clear up sometime soon. It won’t be long,” Micky said in response, waving a hand to brush off Mike’s concern. “And anyway, where would I even go in the meantime? I can’t even sleep on the couch, Clancy got there first.”

_ With me. You could stay with me,  _ Mike wanted to say. He wanted to say that Micky could take his bed, he would sleep on the floor, he didn’t care. But Mike stopped himself. Micky had been awfully friendly to him the past week and a half but sacrificing that much just seemed excessive. It was downright suspicious, is what it was.

Mike didn’t touch on the fact that if Clancy had gotten the couch first he would also be getting the next bed that became free. He supposed the couch was still better than the barn, but still, Mike wanted Micky to have the bedroom, even if it wasn’t exactly fair. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, it was fair in the end. Micky had been given enough shit in his time on the ranch, he deserved a room of his own to stay – or so Mike tried to tell himself as a way to justify his selfishness on Micky’s behalf.

They had come to the pasture where the sheep were grazing, and the dogs were getting jumpy and excitable. Micky looked hesitant, waiting for Mike to lead him in what to do next.

“Do we gotta catch ‘em?” He asked, watching the sheep from the other side of the fence.

“Naw, the dogs’ll herd ‘em,' '' Mike assured him. “They’ll do most’f the work, we just gotta keep an eye on ‘em.”

Micky and Mike hung back while the dogs chased the sheep. Micky was whistling a different tune now that Mike thought sounded a little like ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’. Mike had begun to zone out a little, listening to Micky’s tune, kicking the grass in front of him, just going through the motions, waiting for the sheep to get to the shed and for this to all be over. One job to the next, and the next, and the next. Then Micky was hitting him on the shoulder lightly with the back of his hand, trying to get his attention.

“Mike, look,” he said. Mike looked up, watching Micky’s hand that was pointing in the distance, before adjusting his eyeline to see what he was talking about. There he saw one of the sheep, separated from the group, and not following where the dogs were leading it to go. Mike sighed deeply.

“Wait here,” he said, holding up a hand for emphasis.

Without another word, Mike crept towards the sheep, hoping, praying to  _ something _ that it wouldn’t hear him before he tried to grab it. But Mike had never been very graceful, and the universe had never liked him very much. The sheep perked up, looked at Mike, and started running.

Mike groaned in frustration and ran after it.  _ Of course this happens while Micky’s here _ . Was the sheep trying to make him look a fool?

The sheep had slowed once again, and Mike followed suit, trying to creep up on it once again. He managed to reach out and grab hold of a leg, before the sheep got spooked. In the blink of an eye, the sheep struggled out of Mike’s grasp and scattered, pulling Mike down and, oh god, he was falling, and oh god, he was about to crash face first into the dirt.

He heard Micky’s cackling laughter behind him, bright and boisterous and full of glee, as he rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. Micky’s moods were infectious; even Mike found himself smiling and giving out a small chuckle despite definitely getting some dirt in his mouth.

“This sheep, man!” Mike laughed, ripping out some grass and looking at the sheep. “Unbelievable!”

Mike took a moment to brush the dirt from his face and jeans and shirt, and when he was done with that, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Micky was approaching the sheep, trying to catch it, and Mike could hardly believe it. He watched from his sitting position on the ground, ripping up more grass and waiting to see what would happen.

Mike could  _ still _ hardly believe it when Micky grabbed the sheep by its middle with no trouble whatsoever.

“I’ve got it, Mike!” He shouted. “I caught it!”

That was where he made his mistake. The sheep kicked out of Micky’s grasp, causing him to fall backwards on his ass.

It was Mike’s turn to break down into cackling, side-splitting laughter.

“You sure did, Mick!” He called, sighing in between his laughs. He pushed himself up and walked over to Micky, still letting out a giggle every now and then as he calmed down. He held out his hand and Micky took it, but instead of pulling himself up he pulled Mike down with him, causing the both of them to relapse into fits of laughter.

Mike rolled onto his back as the both of them carried on, seeing nothing but an endless blue sky above them with not a single cloud in sight. Mike wiped a tear from his eye. He couldn’t remember the last time he had let himself laugh like that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so young.

Somehow,  _ somehow _ , they had managed to get all of the sheep in the shed. One by one, Mike sheared each of them, with Micky helping him by holding them down. Micky was a little scared of hurting them at first, but soon, with encouragement from Mike, he gained enough confidence to hold them with strong hands. Mike was painfully aware of their proximity. He could feel Micky’s breath on his nose as he spoke, the sweat of their hands as they brushed against one another every now and then. Mike had never seen the ocean, never been to the beach, but he imagined it smelled like Micky.

Despite the hiccup, the job went by quicker than Mike would have liked. Soon enough, they were back at the barn, ready to go their separate ways. Micky was crouched, playing with the dogs and rubbing their bellies.

“I should …” Mike began. “I oughtta take my lunch break.”

“Yeah, me too,” Micky nodded, standing up. “See ya later.”

Mike watched him go for a moment, before turning himself to the Big House. He was in a good mood and wanted to make it last. He figured he would have some time to himself and grabbed his lunch (a simple ham sandwich) and his guitar on his back and carried it all to the picnic table near the Little House. He sat in the shade of a tall bur oak tree and played a few little ditties, occasionally taking bites of his sandwich before setting it down on the plate and continuing to play.

He heard the crunching of dirt underneath boots and felt a presence behind him. He had forgotten that Micky would probably be coming back this way to have his lunch in the Little House.

He continued playing for a bit (perhaps showing off a bit by pulling out the more impressive songs he knew) until he came to the end of a song and asked, “Are you just gonna keep standing there or are ya gonna say somethin’?”

Mike turned to Micky and saw him leaning against another tree. He stood upright, coming to sit across from Mike at the table. He rested his chin in his hand. “Howdy, stranger,” he said with a smile.

“We meet again,” Mike nodded with a small, shy grin.

Micky watched Mike as he lit a cigarette. He held up the pack as an offer for Mike to take one, but he shook his head. He didn’t like to smoke while he ate.

“Are ya gonna keep playing or … ?” Micky asked. Mike chuckled and turned back to his guitar. The first song that came to mind was ‘Just to Ease my Worried Mind’. Mike wasn’t sure if Micky would like it – it was an old song, and he didn’t know if Micky enjoyed country music – but he didn’t seem to mind, at least.

“Have you ever been to New Mexico or Maine?” Micky asked, once he had finished. “Like in the song?”

“No,” Mike answered. “I’ve never left Texas. Before I came here, I’d never left the town I grew up in.”

“For real?” Micky asked, though the question was rhetorical. “Before I turned eighteen I hadn’t been outside of California much, but my parents took me on heaps of road trips when I was a kid. I came here a lot, too. Not the ranch specifically – “ he laughed as he corrected his wording “ – But my mom grew up in Texas. We went to visit family in Dallas sometimes.”

“No foolin’,” Mike replied.

“Absolutely no fooling here,” Micky promised, his hand on his heart. He quietened for a moment, a hesitation that Mike had seen that he got sometimes before diving into the deep end of something. Then he gained some bravery and spoke, “Can you play me something else?”

Mike returned his guitar to his room upstairs after lunch, almost drunk on all of the time he was spending with Micky. A giddy smile lingered on his face as he closed his bedroom door behind him. He was at the top of the stairs when he saw Bobby waiting for him below in the living room.

“How’d Dolenz go with the sheep?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Mike said, descending the stairs as he spoke. “He did alright … I was thinking I could take him to help me out with some of my jobs more. He gets his own chores done pretty quickly, and they’re pretty easy jobs, and I could use a hand once in a while.”

“You sure about that?” Bobby asked. “I don’t want ya to just be sayin’ that so he’s less of a problem for me.”

A little bit of anger flared up in Mike at him reducing Micky to nothing but a ‘problem’ for him. But he forced it down, keeping his smile on his face. “I’m sure. Like I said, I could use a hand every now and then, get things done faster.”

“Good man,” Bobby smiled, patting Mike twice on the shoulder.

Lunch with Micky became somewhat of a routine, so even when they weren’t working together, they saw each other almost every day for the rest of the week. Mike learned to get used to the feeling of being around Micky – the excitement of speaking to him, the tremor in his fingers whenever they were close enough to touch, the electric shock of his presence. Mike was just glad that, after three years helplessly alone, he had a friend. He could convince himself to push everything else to the side.

Richie and Lou were enthused about Mike’s budding friendship – it gave them plenty of material for their cruel senses of humour. They would corner him after lunch, sometimes individually, sometimes as a pair, and ask him the same biting questions with the same sneer, and the same hyena-laughs. Mike smiled through gritted teeth, laughed bitterly along, even shot a few snide comments back as he played along. And so it went.

They were only joking. Mike could tell the difference between when they were serious and when they were only teasing. But it still struck a little too close to home.

Mike was serious about trying to get Micky out of the barn. The closer he got to Micky the more it weighed on his conscience. Eventually, he found himself seeking June out, having another go at convincing her. One of these days she was bound to be in a suggestable mood.

It was not one of those days.

The study was filled with smoke wafting around the room. Through hazy vision, Mike saw June hunched at the desk, looking older beyond her years. He should have just left her alone. But he had never known when to quit as a kid and he had never learned.

Discarded cigarettes lay in the ashtray. Mike breathed a deep breath and wished that he hadn’t.

“June,” he said, clearing his throat. June turned to him with weary eyes.

“What, Mike?” she sighed. She rubbed her eyes with trembling hands.

“I wanted to ask you about Micky.” He spoke softly, treading carefully. She gave out a sharp laugh that cut through the room. It wasn’t a kind laugh.

“Micky, huh?” she drawled. Mike took another breath and pinched his thigh.

“About gettin’ him outta the barn,” he finished.

“I’ve told you, there just ain’t any space,” she reasoned. She lit another cigarette, took a drag and coughed throatily, waving away some smoke from her face.

“I can swap with him, no problem,” Mike argued, biting his lip. “He’s been a good help and I just don’t feel right about it.” She sighed once again, smoke exhaling from her lips.

“Look, Mike, I’m not gonna make any assumptions because I’ve known you all your life, and I know you’re not like that,” she began, gesturing with the hand that was holding the cigarette. Mike felt sick to his stomach. “And the boys may carry on, but none of them believe it either. But when you keep on like this, well, it doesn’t leave the best taste in my mouth, and someone who’s a little less considerate may make the wrong assumptions, y’hear me?”

Mike gulped back the feeling of his nerves rising through his throat like bile.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he almost whispered.

“I know, I know,” she waved him off. “But that boy is  _ off _ , and the way you hang around him … I’m worried he’ll try something if you show him too much kindness.”

Mike’s growing protectiveness of Micky made the anger boil within him. If anyone had anything wrong with them, it was him.  _ It’s me, it’s me, it’s me. Leave Micky out of it. _ He gritted his teeth, clenched his fist.

“If you would just listen!”

He hadn’t meant to yell, but his voice came out louder than he had expected, and he felt like his words were booming throughout the room.

“Jesus Christ, Mike!” June snapped and, unlike Mike, she had intended to yell, and her voice came out much more powerful than his. “Just drop it already! I’ve had enough of your whining!”

Mike shut down instantly. June glared at him as he backed away in shock. His heart beat fast in his chest as they stared each other down, Mike’s eyes wide with fear. Before he knew it, stiff legs carried him up to the stairs to his bedroom, where he slammed the door behind him.  _ One last hurrah. _

Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt like he was eight years old again, overhearing his parents fighting for the first time, and suddenly and frighteningly aware of everything that had been hidden from him while he slept. He felt helpless and pathetic and small and most of all, completely and utterly foolish. Twenty-one years old and he still couldn’t stand people yelling at him. He had a metallic taste in his mouth that he realised was from biting down on his lip too hard. He wiped the blood away with a quivering hand.

That cherry-pit-guilt was back, and Mike wasn’t entirely sure why. He had the strangest feeling that he had deserved June snapping at him, for bothering her so much when she had given him a job and a home, for shouting at her first, but most of all, for letting himself care enough about Micky to want him to have a warm bed and soft sheets and a place he could call his own, even if it was only just a small room.

He rolled onto his side and eventually fell asleep in his clothes and awoke with the lingering bitter taste of blood in his mouth.


	4. And If Thy Path Be High, Then Be Mine Low

“When do you think it’ll let up?” Micky asked, gazing up at the rafters of the barn. The sound of rain hitting the tin roof and the wooden walls echoed throughout the room. They had only just gotten back from fixing up some fences around the ranch when it had started bucketing down, and they had desperately run for cover.

“I don’t know,” Mike said, listening to the storm outside. “It sounds pretty heavy out there.”

“We might be here for a while,” Micky replied. Mike wasn’t sure what he was suggesting. He might not have been suggesting anything at all.

Micky pushed himself up to sit on a hay bale and slid a cigarette from the pack he kept in his pocket. Once it had been lit and Micky had taken a drag, he offered it to Mike. And so it went. Sitting beside one another, they shared the cigarette, passed it back and forth when Micky could have easily offered Mike his own.

“What do you wanna do while we wait?” Micky asked.

“I don’t know,” Mike shrugged. “Rest for a minute, I guess.”

Micky hummed, held the cigarette between two fingers and rested his head on Mike’s shoulder. Curly hair tickled his neck. “Ranch life is exhausting.”

“Don’t I know it, babe,” Mike sighed. He wished his face would stop burning. Micky didn’t have much concern for personal space, and it made him blush every time. “What’s it like in California?”

“Busy,” he said, going to tilt his head as he said it, but getting stopped by Mike’s shoulder. “I lived in Burbank, so it was pretty uninteresting for a kid. But it was busy. When I was in high school I would go out to the Sunset Strip on the weekends sometimes and see what was happening there, check out the live music and stuff. That was nice.”

“I think I’d like to go there,” Mike said, a little soft and shy. “Once I figure out a way to get outta the family business.”

“Don’t wanna be a rancher your whole life?” Micky elbowed him playfully.

“Nah, I think I’d end up killin’ ‘em,” he chuckled. “Got my sights on Richie or Lou at the moment.”

Micky laughed at that, smoke puffing from between his lips.

“Would you miss them?” Micky asked.

“I suppose,” Mike answered. “Though I wouldn’t regret it. Moving away, I mean, not killing ‘em.”

Micky sat up straight as silence filled the space between them. He wished Micky would put his head back down. He missed the warmth it gave him.

“I’d like to go back to California,” Micky said after a while. The rain kept pouring down above them. Mike had never liked being able to hear the rain on the roof – the sound amplified on the tin always gave him the sensation that something was about to crash down on him. “Not yet, but I’m definitely not sticking around.”

“How’d you ever end up here, anyway?” Mike asked.

“It’s a long story,” Micky chuckled self-consciously, looking at his hands. The cigarette had long been smoked to completion and stubbed out by then.

“We got time,” Mike reasoned. Micky blew out a long breath and twisted the ring on his pinkie. He shifted his legs and the hay scratched at them.

“Well, I finished school and decided to travel a bit, y’know?” He started. Mike didn’t know. He had finished school and started working right away. “I figured I’d get a little bit of living in before I started working on dying. Turns out I’m not very good at being alone, because I lost all my money pretty quick in a town pretty close to this one. Bobby's parents are old family friends of my mom's and we would stay with them loads when he was living with them in Dallas. I knew he was out here now, so I went to him for help, figuring he knew what it was like. He’s a gambler, you know?”

“I do,” Mike replied. “Well, I figured.”

“Yeah, so I went to him, and he helped me out in exchange for helpin’ him out here,” Micky said, finishing his story. “That’s the condensed version of what happened, anyway. Bu-But I was just having fun, you know? I’m not like Bobby or anything I just … got in over my head … trusted the wrong people.”

Mike didn’t know what he could have meant by ‘trusting the wrong people’. He didn’t want to ask, for fear of hearing something he didn’t want to.

“I believe you,” Mike said, not needing to speak above a whisper. He hadn’t noticed Micky’s voice had gotten so quiet as he told his story and how they had seemed to move closer to one another without noticing it. Micky looked up at him with big almond-shaped eyes. Mike knew they were more hazel-coloured (he had studied them many a time, in short glances), but they looked dark brown in the low light of the barn. He cleared his throat quietly and reached to twist Micky’s ring, keeping his eyes locked on their hands. “Maybe you could take me with you. When you go back to California.”

From his peripheral vision, he saw Micky’s eyes flick to his lips, and it instantly brought Mike’s attention back to his face. He stopped fiddling. “Maybe I could.”

Micky let out the smallest breath and, somehow, Mike knew that he was waiting for him to get closer, to close the gap between them and kiss him. He stood on that ledge for a moment, wondering if he had the courage to throw himself off the cliff. But he couldn’t.

He looked down, then pulled away, then pushed himself off the hay bales. He almost stumbled as he tried to stand. Micky looked like he was about to say something.

“I– June p-probably wants me inside,” Mike stuttered, walking backwards to the door, trying his best not to trip. Micky nodded but didn’t say anything, and his silence cut Mike deeper than anything he could have said.

Mike lingered at the door of the barn. Micky was standing up, brushing his jeans with his palms, trying to look busy, and avoiding Mike’s gaze. The barn seemed big and empty and lonely, and Mike felt sad to leave Micky there. But he had made his bed and he would lie in it. “G-G’bye.”

The rain drenched him the minute he stepped outside, but he hardly felt it aside from a slight chill.

All Mike wanted to do was run back into the barn, grab Micky by the collar and kiss him until he couldn’t think anymore. He wanted to run his hands through Micky’s hair and never let go. But he was so used to not being able to get what he wanted that he had started to believe that he didn’t deserve it. He would have been bad at love, he knew it. Leave that business for everyone else, there was no part in it for him. Loneliness had become a habit, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he would ever be able to break from it and unlearn all of the behaviours that had, somewhere along the line, rotted him to the core.

He would never be right for Micky. He ought to find someone else, a kinder boy in California where things would be easier for them while Mike continued to waste away in Texas, marrying a girl solely so nobody asked him questions, and sleeping in separate beds for the rest of their lives.

Despite all of that, he thought that if he ever found himself with the opportunity to have a second chance with Micky, he wanted to try. And maybe that was selfish of him, but then again, maybe it was also selfish of him to run for the hills the second Micky appeared to show any kind of attraction to him. He could have at least offered an explanation - an  _ ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ _ .

When Mike entered the Big House he tracked water all over the hardwood floors. Bobby and June were on the couch in the living room, June with her feet up in Bobby’s lap. When Mike shut the door behind him he accumulated quite the puddle of water underneath his boots as they stared at each other.

“Where’ve you been, Mike?” June asked. She seemed to be in one of her more serene moods today, and therefore, so was Bobby. He didn’t say a word. “You’re soaked. Let me grab you a towel before you catch a cold.”

“Got caught in the rain. It’s fine.” Mike stood still at the doorway, watching as June stood and flitted around the house looking for a spare towel. He hadn’t bothered to push his hair out of his face, and it hung in his eyes, dripping water that caught on his nose.

She came over, wrapped the towel around his shoulders and pushed the hair from his face. “You really oughtta get a haircut one of these days, it’s getting so long.”

June was rather motherly in these moods of hers, but they were few and far in between. He wondered if she would be so doting on Mike if she knew what he had just been doing with a certain boy in a barn, what had been going through his mind, what he had wanted to do, what he couldn’t stop thinking about. He knew it was wishful thinking to hope she wouldn’t be so unaccepting despite the front she put out.

Mike was hung up on the past. June had been his favourite when he was younger, and therefore she always would be. Where Richie and Lou had acted as the annoying younger cousins in his childhood (and hadn’t grown out of it), June had been the older sister Mike had never had. She had never teased him as much as the others, even if he had been a little pest. Days like these reminded him of how June had used to be. But he supposed being the eldest daughter, suddenly in charge of a ranch, a husband and two younger brothers after her mother died must have taken some of the kindness from her. He could hardly blame her for feeling bitter, but damn if he didn’t find himself tiptoeing around her, hoping she wasn’t feeling too low whenever he came into the house for dinner.

“I’m sorry for what I said the other day,” she said, a little quietly, even though Bobby would still be able to hear them anyway. 

“I don’t want to bother you by asking again, but …” Mike trailed off, apprehensive at finishing his sentence for fear of how June may react. He hadn’t even meant to bring it up, but June’s apology caused it to simply rise to the surface without him intending it to. He figured that after rejecting him, the ongoing battle of getting him out of the barn was the least he could do at that point.

“It’s okay,” June said, taking the towel from his shoulders to dry his hair for him. “Beth quit today, so there’s a room available. You can go tell him, if you like, but you should wait for the rain to let up. And take a shower.”

He hoped she didn’t remember that Clancy was still sleeping on the couch. Mike had an awful feeling in his gut that wasn’t too unfamiliar at the thought of having to see Micky again that day. He nodded and walked to the stairs, tracking watery footprints behind him.

“And Mike?”

Mike stopped and turned to her.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Mike nodded again and continued on his journey. He knew that wasn’t entirely true. If she hadn’t meant it, she wouldn’t have thought to say it. She was just sorry that she had said her thoughts so openly instead of keeping them for a day that suited her better.

It was almost evening by the time it stopped pouring, slowing down to a light drizzle. The low, misty clouds gave the ranch a haunting, dreary appearance and it made Mike absolutely miserable (or maybe he was just having a miserable day). He knocked on the barn door and when he got no response he opened it an inch. Micky was sitting cross legged on the floor, scratching out a letter on loose paper balanced on his knee, the lamp sat beside him. Mike cleared his throat and he looked up, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Beth quit today,” Mike said from the doorway, stepping in and standing with unsureness. Being in the same room as Micky felt like he was taking too much from him. “So June said that you can move in there tonight.”

Micky put away his pen and paper. “Thanks,” was all he said, his eyes wide.

Mike left as soon as he could.


	5. It's These Expressions I Never Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little nsfw at the end - it's not very smutty or explicit, but if you don't wanna read it, here's ur warning lol

Bobby didn’t seem to get the memo that Mike wanted to avoid Micky, and sent them out on more jobs together the next day, checking to see if the storm had knocked over any fences or left any more fallen trees. Micky also didn’t seem to get the memo that there was an elephant in the proverbial room. He was the same as ever, bouncy and talkative and cheerful, maybe even more so than usual, and Mike wondered if he was putting it on. He was telling Mike a story about a party in high school, and how he had been trying to impress a girl by telling her that he knew Elvis, and he was rambling on and on about how she definitely didn’t believe him, but still walked him home and gave him a kiss. Despite better judgement (he seemed to be thinking that phrase a hell of a lot around Micky these days), Mike found himself pretending everything was okay too. It was easier to slip into his role when he was following Micky’s lead. 

“How’s your room?” Mike asked as they patrolled the perimeters of the pasture on horseback.

“Oh yeah, it’s good,” Micky nodded. “Good to have a bed, you know? And more light than just a lamp.”

With the way Micky was acting, he couldn’t be sure if what had happened in the barn had ever been real, or if he had just been overreacting. Maybe Micky hadn’t wanted to kiss him at all, and he had been projecting. He supposed he would never know. The slightly sad tone that hung, almost unnoticeable, at the end of every word Micky spoke didn’t particularly make things less confusing. 

By the end of the week Mike was convincing himself to forget all about it. Micky obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and Mike certainly didn’t want to bring it up in case it was unrequited. All he had was small touches and looks as evidence. And he had no proof that Micky didn’t act that way with all of his friends - it wasn’t like he had many at the ranch. And everybody had eyes, everybody could look. Glances were too easy to extrapolate things that weren’t actually there; they proved nothing. So Mike told himself that Micky had never actually been interested in him at all.

Mike was in his room, going through his routine of persuading himself that he had made a good choice in not kissing Micky when he heard a knock at his door. Richie entered without waiting for a reply. 

“What?” Mike asked, not waiting for Richie to speak first.

“Bobby’s takin’ the family out tonight, his shout,” Richie said. “June told me to ask if you wanted to come with.”

Mike thought for a moment. He entertained the notion of going out to town with them - maybe it could get his mind off of Micky - but in the end, it was no question that he would rather spend time alone. It was rare that he ever got the house to himself, and he tended to take advantage of it when he could.

“Nah,” Mike shook his head. “I’ll be alright by myself.”

Richie turned to leave. “If that’s what you want,” he said, and stepped through the door, turning back one last time to say, “Make sure your boyfriend sneaks out by the morning, then.” Mike rolled his eyes, and Richie gave a self-satisfied snicker.

Usually Mike would have taken the opportunity to finally have some peace and quiet. He would have taken his guitar to the living room, made a nice meal for himself and gone to bed early. But he was finding it harder and harder to enjoy being alone these days, and he found that fantasy wasn’t as appealing as it had once been. And though, from Mike’s perspective, he wasn’t sure where he stood exactly, the only person who could possibly be a substitute for his aforementioned plans was Micky Dolenz. 

So, despite his better judgement, he found Micky in his room, eating on his bed and getting crumbs on the sheets. Micky raised both eyebrows as a way to greet Mike instead of speaking, as his mouth was full of food.

“My cousins are out for the night,” Mike said. “I was wond’rin’ if you wanted to come to the Big House with me for a drink?”

Micky nodded enthusiastically, covered his mouth with a hand and said, “Sure.”

He had practically sprung from the bed, brushed the crumbs off with one hand, and held the plate with the other, then followed Mike out. On the way out he said, “It’s been so long since I’ve had a drink.”

A few of the workers went out to the bar in town on the weekends, and Mike was a little shocked to hear that none of them had invited Micky. He supposed it could have been because he wasn’t twenty-one yet, but that had never stopped any of them before. The bartenders didn’t give much of a shit who they sold alcohol to, as long as they looked older than twelve and were willing to pay for it. 

They had gotten inside, Mike opening the door for Micky, Micky flopping onto the couch and looking around at the room with interest. His eyes scrutinised the fur rug, the clock on the wall, the small wooden piano in the corner.

“They’ll be gone all night,” Mike explained as he cracked open a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for each of them. “I think Bobby’s been on a winning streak lately, so they’ll be celebrating that as long as they can.” 

“Good for us,” Micky smiled, taking the glass and tapping it against Mike’s with a soft _clink._

Mike had gotten a deck of cards from the study for lack of anything better to do. Micky held up his cards in front of his face, only his eyes visible as he kept them on Mike. Every now and then he would lean over and try to take a peek at Mike’s deck, and Mike would snap back his cards with a grin. 

“I don’t see June much,” Micky said. “Or at all, really.”

“She mostly does things behind the scenes,” Mike explained. “Business and paperwork and negotiations and whatnot.”

“Is she nice?” Micky asked. Mike wondered why - he had to have gathered his own opinion on June by now, even if he had hardly spoken to her.

Mike paused for a moment. “Depends who you are,” he answered. He never liked bad-mouthing June. “She’s nice to me sometimes, but that’s getting to be few and far between.”

“How come?” Micky asked again. Mike took another moment, playing it off as trying to figure out if he had any cards he could put down. He didn’t particularly like to delve into his family drama, but Micky had been so open about everything - telling him all these stories from when he was a kid and about his parents and sisters. And sometimes Mike wondered if it would be nice to have someone to confide in.

“It’s hard, you know,” Mike shrugged. “Bein’ the oldest kid. I should know. Especially now she’s in charge of the ranch and everything. Their pa died when they were young, and then their ma passed a bit before I got here, which was why I came to help out. She’s gotta keep her brothers reined in, and Bobby’s not much help either. And I think she’s on something, smack or opioids or something, I don’t know what. It all just makes things complicated. But it ain’t all that bad all the time, you just learn how to keep her from getting upset.” Mike didn’t mention how he hadn’t been all too good at doing that lately.

“Have you spoken to her about it?” Micky asked, holding his cards near his knee in plain view of Mike. But he had seemed to have forgotten all about protecting his cards in favour of being concerned.

Mike shook his head. “I don’t have any proof,” he said. “And I just don’t think it’s my place. Are you gonna have your turn?”

Micky turned back to the game, picking up from the deck until he had a card he could place down. Mike wondered if Micky sensed he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, because he didn’t press the issue further. Instead he launched into a long story of a man he had met when he was on the road who showed him how to whittle little sculptures out of pieces of wood and tried to get him to join a hippie commune.

After a few drinks and a few rounds of Crazy Eights, Micky had pointed to the small piano in the corner, asked how old it was, asked if Mike knew how to play. Mike hadn’t answered his questions, only stumbled over to the bench, set his beer bottle down on top of the piano (somewhere along the night they had started drinking beer instead of whiskey), and clunked out a clumsy few chords. He was surprised it was still in tune, it hadn’t been played much since his aunt had died. Micky giggled.

“I _can_ actually play,” Mike chuckled, his words having a slight slur to them that he didn’t care enough to correct. “I’m just a _little_ impaired at the moment.”

Still, Mike soldiered on, and Micky’s laughter was practically incandescent behind him. It filled up the whole room, so much so that the piano sounded like an afterthought compared to it. Then Micky was singing along to the tune Mike was playing and Mike didn’t think anything could have topped that. He had thought that nothing could have topped Micky’s laughter either, but he had been proven wrong. 

“Ah, Kansas city!” Micky was singing, clapping along and he was a little off key because he was smiling and trying not to laugh. Mike had a fire in his stomach and throat that may have been the whiskey, but may have also been because he so desperately yearned to swivel around on his chair, to reach out and touch Micky and feel that laughter, that singing, against his lips. He tried to push the thought away, but it was the only thing inhabiting his mind, and he had nothing else to focus on.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Micky sang, both hands on Mike’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Mike followed, pretending he wasn’t thinking the things that he was.

He still had enough of his inhibitions to hold himself back. They had calmed down, sat on the couch together, and were talking again about who knows what. Then Micky was laying his hand on Mike’s knee and absent-mindedly rubbing his hand back and forth in small circles and Mike couldn’t help but steer the conversation in a new direction, (or more likely grinding it to a halt).

“You know there’s a few rumours goin’ 'round,'' Mike began. He never would have brought it up in normal circumstances. But Micky’s hand was still on his knee, a constant weight on him, and he needed to know - needed to know if what had happened in the barn was real, that he hadn’t gotten it from nowhere. He needed to know if the rumours were just that: rumours. “A few of the guys have been sayin’ you’re queer.” There were worse words he could have said that had been used to describe Micky, but he didn’t care for them.

“Depends who’s asking,” Micky replied, retracting his hand and looking Mike in the eye with a smile, but something in his eyes that looked like he was trying to read his mind.

“You’ll wanna be more careful,” Mike said, taking a swig from his beer to distract himself from his burning face. “I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, but they don’t take too kindly to that kinda stuff around here.”

“You’d know a thing or two about that?” Micky asked, as the smile played at the corners of his lips.

Mike’s head went to static, something white-hot flared within him. It was fear. “No sir-ee bob,” he said quickly, playing it off with a chuckle. “I’m no queer.”

Mike didn’t know why he had lied. He had been all too aware he wasn’t the straightest from a young age. It was an instinct; he had gotten so used to hiding it that it was hard _not_ to lie. It was second nature, it was survival.

“Okay,” Micky nodded, that look in his eye returning. He didn’t look like he believed him. Mike didn’t blame him, he hadn’t been very convincing.

The talk petered out as the two of them sat on the couch, biting lips and scratching off beer labels on their bottles and wishing the other would say something. He thought he heard Micky cough. They sat for a minute, then two, then three.

Then he took a sip of his beer and Micky watched his lips with hopeful eyes, looking down through long eyelashes. Mike only knew where Micky was looking because he hadn’t looked away from him for a second. He remembered what he had thought about in the rain, that he would like a second chance.

“You know,” Mike said, breaking out of the quiet purgatory he had created. Micky’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and he gave a long, dragging glance. He had to get the words out or the nerves would overtake him. “I’m also a terrible liar.”

He thought he saw Micky lick his lips before he grabbed both sides of Mike’s face and crashed into him. The beer bottle fell out of his hands and rolled across the floor - it had been mostly empty, anyways - as Mike wrapped his hands around Micky’s back and waist, clinging to the fabric of his shirt in surprise. Micky kissed him like a head on collision. 

Micky’s lips were soft and plump and, most of all, needy. He was practically in Mike’s lap (who had his back against the arm rest, his legs stretched out across the couch), and was undoing the buttons of his shirt as they kissed.

Mike whimpered lightly as Micky pulled away. He was breathing hard, trying to pull Micky back in. Micky leaned down to kiss his neck, just underneath his jaw, and Mike clutched at his hair.

“Show me your room,” he murmured against Mike’s neck. Excitement shot right through Mike’s heart. He tugged Micky up by his hair and kissed him one last time before tapping his knees to tell him to stand up.

They wasted no time getting up the stairs. Micky was rambling incoherent nonsense as Mike pushed him to the bed. _Mike, Mike, Mike,_ he kept saying as they clumsily undressed. _Oh, Mike,_ as Mike kissed his neck and exposed collarbone and touched the skin of his waist for the first time. _Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,_ softly whining as Mike’s hands slipped past the waistband of his jeans and limbs tangled together.

Somewhere along the line Micky had flipped them over, and kissed him down his front all the way down and now it was Mike’s turn to squirm and gasp. _Micky, Micky, Mic-Micky,_ as curly hair tickled his thighs. Mike felt a pull in his gut that he knew was because of what Micky was doing with his mouth and tongue. _Micky,_ as he bit down on his fingers, trying to keep quiet even though they were completely alone in the house. 

Soon he was arching his back and he felt like he was rocketing down on a rollercoaster after a steep uphill climb, and god, Micky was still down there and had he done this before? Mike pushed the thought away. Micky was near his face once again, whispering in his ear and straddling his stomach, and Mike was kissing him and touching him in return and _Jesus,_ this was all he had wanted from the moment he had seen Micky on the ranch. Not just the sex but the warmth, the companionship, the kissing and the whispering of names and the soft gasps. It was everything and it was _real._

Later that night, when they were both too exhausted to go on, Mike was awake while Micky slept beside him, an arm slung over his naked stomach. He had never slept like this, someone beside him, skin on skin on skin, warmth beyond warmth. Mike had only one thought on his mind that repeated until he drifted off to sleep. _This is real, this is real, this is real._


	6. Then I Ran Into The Hangman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more sliiiiight uh. mentions of monkees gettin it on at the start. very very slight. mostly implied

Mike awoke to a headache (not a very bad one, given the circumstances) and a warm body at his side. He stirred, pushing himself up against the headboard to sit up a small amount with the purpose of getting a better look at the naked boy clinging to him. Micky’s hair was somehow even messier than usual. He had kicked the blanket off sometime during the night, and the arm that was still wrapped around Mike’s waist had goosebumps in the fresh morning air. Delicate-looking long legs wrapped around Mike’s own, knobbly knees against knobbly knees. Mike ran a hand through Micky’s curls, remembering how they had felt last night, how happy he had been to finally be able to feel his pretty hair underneath his fingertips. 

Micky stirred and woke, opening his eyes and finding Mike instantly. His hair stuck up on one side, he had been drooling on the pillow and had sleep in his tired, drooping eyes. Mike had never seen a prettier sight. 

Micky raised himself up, held one side of Mike’s face and kissed him - on his lips, on his cheek, below his ear, on his jaw, back to his lips (et cetera, et cetera, et cetera). “Mh,” Mike practically purred. “Good morning.”

Micky pulled away, his nose pressed against Mike’s. He ran his hands over Mike’s chest, seemingly enthused by the idea that he was allowed to.

“Your hair smells nice,” he said with a whisper. His voice was deeper and scratchier in the morning. “Did I tell you your hair smells nice?”

“You might have mentioned it,” Mike replied, a bashful smile growing on his face. Micky smiled back before he dove back in to capture Mike’s mouth in another kiss. It didn’t take long for Micky to find himself in Mike’s lap, knees on either side of the thighs of the boy underneath him. It didn’t take long at all for his hands to start wandering much lower than Mike’s chest. Mike pulled back from Micky’s lips with a  _ ‘hmph’  _ sound. “What time is it, Mick?”

Micky looked to the clock on the wall. “Five?”

Mike leant his head against the headboard and closed his eyes. He was trying to think, which was hard to do with Micky kissing his neck and running his hands over his hips. 

“Mick,” He said. Micky hummed in response, but didn’t stop. He placed both hands on Micky’s waist and pushed him back gently. “Micky, we have to stop. People’ll be up soon.”

Micky pulled back with a whine and his disappointment was clear in his big brown eyes.

“How do I get outta here without being seen?” Micky asked, keeping his voice at a low volume. Mike looked around the room.

“Would you be able to climb out using a window ledge and a rain gutter?” Mike winced as he asked it. 

Micky didn’t seem perturbed, however, and swung over the side of the bed to peer out the window and inspect his escape route. Mike wondered if he was well versed in jumping out of boys’ windows.  _ Whatever.  _ Micky seemed to figure out a course of action, as he nodded to himself and said, “Dig.”

Mike leaned over the other side of the bed, gathered up Micky’s clothes and tossed them at him. He watched Micky dress from his position sitting on the edge of the bed, and when he was finished, Mike grabbed both his hands and pulled him in for one last kiss, both of them lingering just a little too long. 

“I’m sorry,” Mike said. He felt guilty about making Micky sneak around. He had never been with a girl before, but he knew enough that it wasn’t exactly the romantic thing to do, and he didn’t think it should have been any different just because Micky was a man. He felt oddly responsible for it, even if he could hardly be blamed for the unfortunate way things were.

But Micky only chuckled light-heartedly and said “It’s okay, babe,” before he opened the window and was gone. Micky’s carton of cigarettes had fallen out of the pocket of his jeans last night, and they lay forgotten on Mike’s bedroom floor. He sighed and picked them up, getting dressed into his pyjamas and trying to go back to sleep.

He was only in the beginning stages of drifting off when he heard a knock on his door and Richie was once again entering without any answer from Mike. He was holding the beer bottle Mike had dropped on the floor the night before and brandished it in front of his face.

“Had fun last night?” Richie asked with a sneer. “Drinkin’ alone is a little bit sad, Michael, you coulda just come out with us.”

Mike only groaned in response, rolled over and hid his face in his blankets. Richie laughed his hyena laugh and shook Mike.

“C’mon, it’s Sunday,” he said. “You gotta get up.”

Mike groaned again, but this time he threw off the covers and sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. He looked up and Richie was still there, his hands on his hips.

“I’m up, man, I’m up,” he insisted. Richie seemed to be satisfied with that and left without another word. Mike was only glad that Micky hadn’t left anything more than cigarettes behind, or he would have been caught in an instant.

He dressed himself quickly before descending the stairs and out the door before anyone else could talk to him. He crossed the ranch to the Little House. Clancy was on the couch and watched him walk past without a word. He still said nothing as Mike knocked on Micky’s door - the staff were a lot less suspicious than his cousins. Or they just didn’t have the gall to confront him about their suspicions.

He heard a soft “Yeah?” from inside Micky’s room after he knocked, and he let himself in. Micky was sitting at the little wooden desk in the corner, writing out a letter. He looked up, and appeared glad to see that it was Mike who was knocking on his door.

Mike came to stand in front of Micky and placed the cigarettes on the desk beside Micky’s pens. “You left these in my room.” Mike liked how the words felt as he said them, the way they implied their tryst without saying it outright. It reminded him all that it had been real.

The way Micky held onto Mike’s hips and Mike rested his hands on Micky’s shoulders was also an adequate reminder that this was all quite real. Mike took Micky’s face in his hands and leant down to kiss his cheek gently, before resuming their previous position, pulling him in closer than before. He felt Micky sigh. “I’m sorry for makin’ ya sneak out the window.”

“It’s okay, really, Mike,” Micky chuckled. Mike shook his head, though Micky couldn’t exactly see it.

“No, it’s not,” Mike argued. “You deserve better’n that. You deserve breakfast in bed, or a cup of coffee at least before you go.”

Micky pulled back and looked to Mike with sincere and innocent, doe-like eyes. “You really think so?”

“Of course, why?” Mike asked. Micky looked away.

“I don’t know,” Micky laughed sheepishly. “Not many of the boys I’ve been with before thought that way about me. I didn’t even think you’d wanna give me back my cigarettes once I’d left.”

Mike was shocked at that statement. Maybe he was just old-fashioned, but it hardly seemed proper. And regardless of whether it was proper or not, he couldn’t understand how nobody else had seen what Micky was worth.

Mike held Micky’s face in his hand and lifted his chin so they were looking at each other. “Micky, I … I really dig you. I have for a while.”

“You mean that?” Micky asked. Mike had never seen him look so uncertain.

“Man, why do you think I was so shy all the time? I couldn’t get up the nerve to speak to you for two weeks!” Mike laughed in disbelief, which made Micky smile again, and pull Mike back into their embrace. They stood for a quiet moment, Micky stroking the small of Mike’s back with gentle hands, feeling the muscles underneath the fabric of his shirt. Then Mike broke the silence and asked, “Who’re you writing to?”

Micky unwrapped his arms from around Mike and gathered up the letters. “Just my parents.”

“Do they know you’re here?” Mike asked.

“Yeah,” Micky nodded. “But they don’t know  _ why.  _ Whole reason I’m here is because I was too ashamed to go to them for help.”

“Are you gonna tell ‘em?” Mike asked. Micky shrugged, which he took as a ‘probably not’. Mike chewed on his lip. He didn’t have time to get into it, though. He had already stayed longer than he should have. 

“I hate to leave ya so soon, but it’s Sunday,” Mike said, a little awkward and unsure how to part with Micky. Micky seemed confused at what Mike had said, so Mike explained, “Church.”

“Oh,” Micky nodded, turning back to face his desk, expecting Mike to leave.

Instead, Mike asked, “You a religious man, Micky?”

“No,” he replied, with a soft chuckle. “We never really went when I was a kid.”

“I ain’t really, either,” Mike said. “But it’s better to play along with it ‘round here. Did you wanna come?”

Micky had the sense that Mike wasn’t inviting him because it would be particularly fun for either of them but simply because what he was trying to say was ‘ _ I want to spend time with you. I want to be close to you.’  _ He also had the inkling that Mike was assuring him that he wasn’t going to ditch him the moment the opportunity arose.

“Sure, I’ll come,” Micky shrugged, standing up. “Will your family mind?”

“Screw ‘em,” Mike replied. “Some of ‘em might even be glad to see you in a church, to make sure you don’t burn up when you cross the altar.” 

Micky shoved him by the shoulder as Mike smiled at him. He followed him to the doorway, but before Mike could open the door, Micky wrung his hands around his neck and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, more a test on whether Mike would return it or if he would pull away, start to distance himself more and more as the morning eased away and the reality of the afternoon was in the distance. It had happened before and Micky knew it would happen again. And yet it had been hours since he had snuck out of the window (enough time to think, enough time to regret) and still, Mike lingered as they parted. When they pulled away Mike was blushing with a slight smile gracing the corners of his lips. Both of his hands were on either side of Micky’s face, thumbs giving light touches to his cheeks.

“Well now I  _ definitely  _ don’t wanna go,” Mike said, his voice low. “How am I meant to just sit in church when all I’m thinkin’ about is you kissing me?”

“Sorry,” Micky said with a pout, though he obviously wasn’t very remorseful because he gave Mike one last quick peck before opening the door himself.

It was a tight fit in the pickup truck with June, Bobby and Lou in the front and Mike squeezed between Richie and Micky in the back. Mike had worried that the jig was up before it had even gotten started by the strange look June gave them when he had told her Micky wanted to come to church with them. But the look seemed to have been more surprise at Micky wanting to come at all rather than the apparent closeness that he had with Mike. 

Micky and Mike sat in the back, completely alone in their row of the pews. Mike was feeling the exhaustion from the night before, staying up most of the night and waking up early, full force as the preacher droned on and on and he felt himself slumping lower in his seat. He was worried that Micky was feeling the same, and was coming to regret asking him to come at all. It was a dumb, needy thing to have done.

The only thing keeping him awake was how he was all too aware of their knees touching. Anxiety stabbed in his gut when Micky lightly laid a hand above his knee, the pads of his fingers first, testing the waters, seeing if anybody was looking at them, then finally easing in. Mike blushed bright red and he felt like his heartbeat was echoing throughout the room. But nobody looked his way - all attention was on the preacher.

Mike reached out and placed a hand over Micky’s, curling his fingers around Micky’s to clasp his hand, somehow both tightly and gently at the same time. From the corner of his eye, he saw Micky giving him a look, a question that asked,  _ ‘Is this okay? Are you okay with this?’  _ Mike smiled at him with a closed mouth, and Micky smiled back, a twinkle in his eyes. Maybe he had been a bit of a hypocrite when he had told Micky to be more careful the night before. 

He ran his thumb over the back of Micky’s hand and eventually the stabbing anxiety turned into a dull excitement. He was holding the hand of a beautiful boy with his family only a few feet away and yet nobody cared about them, they were invisible and in their own world, and Mike didn’t wish he was sleeping anymore because he wouldn’t want to have missed it for the world.


	7. My Lady Of The Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more mentions of sex in this chap but nothing really all that explicit,,

A few nights later Mike was knocking on Micky’s window. He had seen the light still on from his own bedroom and could hardly help himself, making his way over to the Little House carefully with a smile he could hardly contain. 

Micky was sitting in bed reading a book when he heard Mike’s quiet knocking. Mike saw him look up in surprise before he caught sight of Mike kneeling at the ledge. Mike smiled and waved as he got Micky’s attention.

The window was big, but opened close to the ground - Mike was crouching on his knees between two bushes and the branches scratched at his sides. He watched as Micky sat on the floor and pushed up the window. He smiled at Mike as he leant his elbow on the window ledge and rested his head on top of his hand.

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” Micky sighed theatrically with a wistful expression.

“Are ya gonna let me in or not, Juliet?” Mike quipped.

Micky scooted away from the window to give Mike room to climb in. The window didn’t open very far, and it was a tight squeeze to get through. When he finally managed to crawl his way through, Mike fell to the floor on his back with a soft thump that made him laugh. This was hardly the romantic scene he had pictured in his head on the walk over. He looked up and Micky was above him, holding a hand out to lift him up. He took Micky’s hand and pulled himself up, keeping Micky close by holding onto his shoulders.

“‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy,” Micky continued, though unable to keep up the act in his facial expression as he cracked a wide smile. “Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.”

“Are ya done?” Mike asked. They were standing close and keeping their voices low in case anybody heard them.

“Yeah,” Micky said with a chuckle. “I can’t remember the rest.”

“Good,” Mike said, and closed the distance between them by pressing his lips to Micky’s. God he could get used to this. 

Mike pulled away and sat on the bed, taking off his boots and leaning against the headboard, getting comfortable. Micky came to join him, sitting beside him and leaning his head on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you didn’t like my Juliet,” Micky said, and Mike could tell without looking at him that he was pouting.

“I never said I didn’t like it,” Mike retorted. “I’m actually impressed you could remember that much.”

“We studied it in high school,” he explained, and Mike could feel him starting to smile against his shoulder as he told the story. “We acted it out in class while we were reading it and my friends and I thought it would be funny if I played Juliet. Romeo didn’t wanna do the kissing scene with me though, which is a shame because he was cute. Not really my type though.”

“And what would your type be, then?” Mike asked with a smile, running a hand through Micky’s hair.

“Hm,” Micky played along, turning his head and looking Mike up and down with his eyes. “Tall. Dark hair. Funny accent. Handsome.”

“You got bad taste, boy,” Mike said, shoving Micky with an elbow. “And I don’t know about the handsome part.”

“You wouldn’t know handsome if it hit you right between the eyes,” Micky snorted, poking Mike in the cheek. “You like me, after all.”

“I’m uglier’n you by a long shot,” Mike argued.

“Nuh-uh,” Micky shot back, pulling himself up to straddle Mike’s lap, a position he seemed to enjoy a whole lot. He held Mike’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes with a smile on his face. “I’m uglier.”

“I’m the ugliest,” Mike said, with a finality to his tone. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me.”

Micky only replied with a soft chuckle and a warm expression. Then he asked, “Do you really think I’m handsome?”

“I think you’re just about the prettiest thing I ever did see,” Mike practically mumbled, a flush rising to his cheeks. But Micky had heard it all the same. “But you’ve probably heard that lots of times before.”

“I have,” Micky said with a playful grin that matched his tone of voice. But the playfulness lessened a few notches (not enough to come off completely serious) when he said, “But I never believed it before.” Mike wondered if Micky kept the joking tone because he wasn’t being sincere or because he wanted to hide that he was being sincere.

Still, Mike’s compliment earned him a sweet kiss that deepened and deepened and deepened until Mike had to depart for his own room in the dark of the night. And so it went.

In the mornings Micky came with Mike to check on the cattle. They’d slip off the horses then walk around for a bit, stalling for time, the shotgun Mike took with him in case there were any wild animals slung across his back and bumping the backs of his legs. Every morning, Micky would scan the area, making sure nobody was around (they never were), then pull Mike in to steal a quick kiss. Mike would blush every time. Then Micky would turn to the cows and lecture them aloud on the importance of not being a narc and Mike would laugh every time too. 

Mike had never been kissed so many times. It seemed Micky was always trying to find some excuse to kiss him, to get closed to him, to be affectionate. Mike hadn’t been kissed all too many times at all. 

There was a girl at a party, who had done it more out of pity than anything. Mike hadn’t had many friends in high school and he had the suspicion she had always felt sorry for him. She would talk to him in their classes, and ask about his day when they passed each other at lunch. Then her friends had started a rumour that he had a crush on her (he didn’t) and when she found him sitting on the sofa at a house party she had sat with him and talked until suddenly she was kissing him and he hadn’t kissed back. She had seemed more embarrassed than he was. He apologised. She did the same. She never really talked to him much in the halls after that. It had hardly lasted a second, and still it had terrified Mike right down to the bone how much he hadn’t liked it.

There were games of spin the bottle and girls who failed to hide their disappointment when the bottle pointed to him. He didn’t like those any better. The shame and guilt over being kissed by someone who was at least a little bit disgusted by it made it all so much worse, and he often found himself wondering why he had even bothered to join in on the game in the first place. He wondered why people tried to include him at all, waving him over and insisting “C’mon Mike, come join us!” He had thought they had just felt pity for the wallflower, but he was becoming increasingly aware that they may have just been laughing at him and the misfortune of his partners.

Then there was a boy. He had liked that kiss a lot. The boy was pretty and well-liked and Mike remembered wondering why he had chosen  _ him  _ of all people - ugly little Mike with the big nose and no chin, stick thin and always wearing clothes that were too big for him. By then he had learned to be suspicious of anyone who was trying to kiss him. Their intentions were rarely kind. And Mike had to be extra careful if a boy was asking to kiss him because at his school that could only mean they were trying to trick him into admitting he was queer and he would never live that one down if anyone found out.

Mike had seen this boy around, however. He knew that he was nice, and wasn’t entirely certain he would do such a thing like that. Mike was long past his phase of denial by that point - he was aware enough of himself to know that he had had a crush on this boy for some time. Which made the situation even more difficult, because how could he possibly say no? Even if his stomach twisted inside itself with fear and he knew, he knew all along, it could do nothing but go wrong?

So when the boy had found him, taken him behind a shed on the outskirts of the school’s football field and asked if he could kiss him, Mike said yes. And the boy did. The kiss lasted longer than any of the others - long enough for the butterflies in his stomach to subside until he forgot where he was, forgot all about the tin of the shed pressing into his back, and caught himself up in the feeling of soft lips against his, gentle and, above all else,  _ wanting.  _ Mike had never been kissed like he had been wanted before. The boy’s hands were on his neck. He so very easily could have squeezed too tight, but he didn’t. 

In the end, the boy was just trying to answer a question he had been asking himself. Mike never found out if he got the answer he was looking for. Looking back, after the excitement had dulled and faded away, he realised the boy had probably only kissed him because he was unlikely to tell anyone about it. They never spoke about it again. Never looked each other in the eyes when they passed at school.

Kissing Micky was a lot like how kissing that boy had been. Except Micky didn’t run away or avoid his eye from shame afterwards. He just kept coming back for more and more and more. 

They spent a lot of time laughing together over lunch. Mike’s cousins were probably wondering why he seemed so happy lately. They seemed to have eased off of Micky a little bit, now that it was obvious Mike had struck up a friendship with him. That almost made Mike laugh.  _ If only they knew.  _

It was early in the evening when Mike left Micky for the Big House, guitar in hand. Micky had asked him to play a few tunes for him and he had, sitting and singing with him at the picnic table. He had his hand on the back doorknob when he heard shouting inside.

Bobby was yelling at June about something, Mike couldn’t hear what, and June was yelling back. His hand paused on the doorknob. He didn’t want to eavesdrop on something that was none of his business. He didn’t want to interrupt either. More than that, he hated listening to people fighting. It always managed to dig at his insides, no matter the circumstances.

He couldn’t both avoid Bobby and June and also go inside the house, and he couldn’t stay on the porch listening to them. Without any options, he slung his guitar across his back and turned to the direction of Micky’s room.

Micky had stopped locking his window shut. Mike crouched in between the bushes and pushed it up himself. Micky was on his side, with his back facing the window, and was reading on his bed once again. When he heard the window open, he turned and saw Mike sliding his guitar in first and then climbing through. He was getting used to having to slip in through the small space, but with his spindly long limbs it would never look anything but awkward. But Micky didn’t mind.

“Long time no see,” Micky said, putting his book to the side. Mike set his guitar against the desk, took his shoes off and slipped into bed next to Micky, sliding arms around his waist.

“Mind if I stay here a while?” Mike asked, whispering against Micky’s skin, nose pressed against his neck. The discomfort from hearing June and Bobby wore off almost instantly in the comfort of Micky’s smell that was becoming more and more familiar to him.

Micky turned to him, brushed the hair from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead. His fingers played at the hem of Mike’s shirt and when Mike hummed in agreement and lifted his arms to help him, Micky lifted it over his head. Clothes found their way to the ground.

Sex with Micky never felt wrong like he feared it would have. He didn’t tend to buy into a lot of the ideals and beliefs of his generation, and especially not the beliefs of those that were older than him, but he couldn’t outright say he had never internalised everything that had been told to him since he was young - not when the lessons he had been taught weren’t always non-violent. But sex with Micky didn’t feel at all like how people had warned him it would. It didn’t feel like his soul was being damned for all eternity. All it felt like was human nature. It felt like looking at a renaissance painting, or the sun kissing your skin on a warm day, or hearing a song for the first time in a while that you had forgotten about but you still remembered all the words.

Mike knew he would have to go back to his room after this was all done, and all he wished for was that he could stay, stay, stay, until the sun came up and he could watch the golden light falling over Micky’s arms and legs and face. But he knew that couldn’t be the case, and besides, Micky was looking up at him with a blissful smile and chattering with quick breaths as he always did, and that was enough. The moonlight could be enough.

Mike stayed for a while, holding Micky close and not wanting to let go. Then he stood and got dressed, and Micky stretched out on his back, closing his eyes, not needing to be in the same rush that Mike was. Mike gave him one last kiss goodbye before he was grabbing his guitar and slipping back out into the cool night air. 

And so it went, and so it went.


	8. Got To Scrape The Shit Right Off Your Shoes

Mike awoke to his shoulder being rather violently shaken. He opened his eyes, squinting in the darkness and blinking away the bleariness, but all he could see was a shadowy silhouette of whoever was shaking him.

“Wha - ?” Mike mumbled. “What’s happening?”

“It’s June,” Lou said, his words coming in quick syllables. Mike started, his first thought, rapid-fire in his brain, was that he was lucky that in his half-asleep state that he hadn’t assumed the person in his room was Micky. It took a while to process what Lou had said and the worry over what had happened to June came a little slower. “We’re taking her to the hospital.”

“Huh- what?” Mike stammered.

His eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and Lou’s features were becoming clearer. He looked like a deer in headlights. Like he was somewhere far away, like after whatever had happened he had tried to put himself back together but had done it all wrong. 

“She ODed,” he explained. Lou was standing now, tugging at and bunching up the cuffs of his jacket between his thumb and fingers. “An ambulance is comin’ but we don’t know where Bobby is. Me ‘n’ Rich’re goin’ in the ambulance, but you gotta go find’m.” His words came out slurred together and unclear with the hurried way he was speaking.

“How will I? If Bobby’s got the car?” Mike asked, out of breath even though he had been sitting in bed the whole time.

“I don’t know,” Lou snapped, taking Mike aback. “One’f the boys’ll have a car. Take a fucking horse if you need to. I don’t know, just fuckin’ figure it out.”

Lou left Mike’s room, his heavy work boots tramping across the carpet, and left the door swinging wide open. Mike hardly remembered getting dressed. Before he knew it he was going down the stairs two at a time, running past the ambulance (the doors were closing as he past, the lights flashing across the ranch, blue and red on the walls of the barn and the houses), and had found himself at Micky’s door. He didn’t bother with the window and almost bashed the door in with his knocking. He didn’t care about the other people in the house. He didn’t care about how his knuckles hurt.

“ _ Mike? _ ” Micky asked blearily as he opened the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked unfocused from having been woken up, and at the same time confused, and a little bit worried about his insistence. 

“Get dressed and come with me,” Mike demanded. “I’ll explain later, but you gotta trust me because I need you right now.”

Micky’s expression only became more fearful. He nodded.

“Where’s Jo’s room?” Mike asked.

“Upstairs,” Micky answered.

Mike grabbed Micky’s wrist and hauled him up the stairs, hoping he hadn’t been too forceful, but not looking back to check if Micky had tripped. Soon he was going through the same routine, knocking on Jo’s door and almost knocking it down in the process. Only as Jo was opening the door did he remember to drop Micky’s wrist. 

Jo seemed to adjust to being awoken better than Micky had. “What’s happening?” she asked weakly.

“We need to borrow your car,” Mike said, hurriedly. “No time to get into details but June’s in hospital and Bobby’s got the truck and we need to find him.”

Jo was speechless, her mouth open, but no words coming out. She backed away from the door, then dug around in a drawer and tossed her car keys to Mike. 

“We’ll bring it back,” he promised.

“Good luck,” was all she said before closing the door.

Mike’s hands felt numb on the steering wheel of Jo’s car. He must have been looking pretty rough, because Micky asked, “Do you want me to drive?”

“Naw, I-I’ll be fine,” Mike assured him, though he didn’t suppose he was being very convincing. “I know where to go in town.”

The town was small, and it wasn’t like Micky had never been there before - he could have found his way around just fine. But he figured Mike felt safer if there was at least something he could keep in his control, a small task that he could focus on getting just right so he didn’t have to think about anything else. So Micky let him drive.

“What happened?” Micky asked as Mike started up the car.

“I don’t know much besides what you heard me tell Jo,” Mike admitted. “June overdosed.”

“Oh.”

“Richie and Lou are waiting for us at the hospital.”

Neither of them said much else on the drive into town. The radio didn’t play in the car and Micky didn’t turn it on - music just didn’t seem appropriate given the circumstances.

Not many places were open this late, and it wasn’t difficult to find Bobby. Mike’s only plan was to simply head straight for one of the only bars in town, and like an oasis in a desert, like a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night, the pickup truck was parked out front.

The bar was empty, and it gave Mike the odd, out of body experience of being in a movie, playing a part, waiting for the point in the script where it all went wrong. But it  _ had  _ already gone wrong. The yellow lights on the ceiling gave the room a sombre mood, Bobby slumped over the counter, nursing his drink, and the bartender was out back. A perfect setting for their scene, the only souls in the joint. Actors waiting for their next line.

Except when the time came to speak, Mike found he didn’t know what to say.

“Bob-Bobby,” Mike said, touching his shoulder. There was no way Bobby hadn’t heard them come in, but he was fairly convincing when pretending to ignore them, and it left Mike unsure. “Come on buddy, we gotta go.”

“Don’t wanna,” Bobby murmured petulantly. He took a swig of his drink.

“Well, ya gotta,” Mike said. “Come on let’s go.”

Bobby looked up at that moment, and his eyes fell immediately on Micky, who was trying to hang back behind Mike.

“What’d ya bring’m for?” Bobby slurred, pointing at Micky and glaring at Mike. “Why’d ya bring the f-”

“Bobby, get up,” Mike cut him off, shoving him not-so-gently by the shoulder. “We gotta go see June.”

“June don’t want me home no more,” Bobby said, mostly to himself. He forgot all about Micky, and turned back to slump over the bar. “Says’m runnin’ us t’the ground.”

“She’s in hospital, Bobby,” Mike said. His voice was rough around the edges, frustrated from how Bobby was acting. “Are ya gonna be a good husband and come to see if your wife’s okay or are ya gonna keep being a pathetic shit and mope all night?”

“June’s in hospital?” Bobby asked, sounding almost innocent, looking at Mike with round, glassy eyes. He had seemed to not even notice everything else Mike had said. He said nothing else, only stared at his drink.

Mike grunted. Bobby was unresponsive as Mike pulled him off the chair and carried him out of the bar. Mike had slung one of Bobby’s arms around his shoulders and limped out the door underneath the mostly dead weight.  _ Lord, I hope he paid for that drink.  _ Bobby was muttering about something as they walked out, but Mike didn’t care to listen.

Mike took Bobby’s keys from his pocket and, with Micky’s help, hauled him into the passenger seat of the truck. He shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, where Micky was waiting for him.

“I’m gonna take him with me to the hospital,” Mike explained. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Are you sure you want me to come?” Micky asked. He sounded unsure on whether he wanted to be there or not. “I don’t want to intrude on your family or anything.”

“I’m sorry about what he said,'' Mike said. His back was turned to Bobby, who wasn’t paying attention to much of anything at that moment, and he took Micky’s hand in his and held it, clasped, to his chest. “But please, Micky. I don’t think I can do it without you.”

“Okay,” Micky nodded softly. “Okay.”

Mike smiled, a little sadness hidden behind the eyes and the teeth, and Micky could tell that he wished he could be more affectionate but held off. “Thank you,” he said, and pushed Jo’s keys into the hand he was holding.

Bobby was so quiet on the car ride over that Mike had thought he had fallen asleep. But he managed to roll and slip his way out of the car when they stopped, and had seemingly sobered enough (and gotten over his shock) to walk on his own. Micky had followed their car to the hospital, and came to Mike’s side.

They found Richie and Lou in the waiting room of the small hospital. Mike held on to Bobby’s collar as they walked in in case he tried anything - he was prone to outbursts when drunk - but he said and did nothing, only slumped himself down in on himself in the nearest chair, looking like if he dared to speak he would be sick to his stomach.

Richie looked small and shaken and lost. Mike had always berated him for acting childish, had often been annoyed by it, but now all Richie’s childishness afforded him was pity. Mike had never really taken into account just how young he really was - three years younger than himself, and had already lost a mother and a father and now almost a sister, too. His eyes looked red and swollen, and he seemed so exhausted that he no longer cared if crying made him appear weak.

Lou, however, looked angry. Frustrated. He was ready to lash out at any moment.

“Is she okay?” Mike asked the minute their eyes turned to him. Lou looked to him, then to Micky.

“She’s stable,” Lou answered, with a harshness in his tone that made him sound more like he was snapping. “That’s all we know.”

When Lou saw Micky hanging behind, Mike knew that he had found his target to strike at. His arms were crossed, his lips pulled into a tight line. Mike wanted to make sure Micky wasn’t around for when Lou decided to attack. 

Mike pulled Micky to his side and whispered into his ear, “Mick, can you find some water for Bobby?”

Micky nodded and scattered away as quick as he could.

He had hardly left the room when Lou stood up, crowding Mike, trying to intimidate him. Mike backed away. He wasn’t looking to start a fight. He figured his pride could take the hit of backing down more than Lou’s could.

“Why did you bring  _ him _ ?” Lou hissed. He hadn’t used the word that Bobby had gone to say earlier, but he didn’t need to. His voice said it all.

“Shut up, Lou,” Mike sighed, rolling his eyes. Despite telling himself he should diffuse the situation, his temper was getting the better of him the longer the night went on. Every insult to Micky cut him to the bone. Even if they weren’t directed at him at all, they hurt just the same, and his patience was wearing thin. “He’s helpin’ us out.”

Lou’s hands curled into fists, but Mike knew it was an empty threat. Not even Lou would risk getting kicked out. “It’s none’a his business.”

“Relax,” Mike said. “I needed someone to drive Jo’s car while I took Bobby in the pickup.”

“He coulda gone home,” Lou argued. Mike didn’t have anything to say to that one. He’d been had.

“Just be glad he still helps any of us out with the way y’all treat him,” Mike shot back, almost spitting. “Pushin’ him ‘round, not givin’ him a proper place to sleep for weeks, tellin’ everyone he would be runnin’ away before the month’s through.”

“He’s only helpin’  _ you  _ out and you know exactly why,” Lou argued back, the hissing in his voice coming back as he tried to keep quiet and still sound cruel.

“I don’t say I do,” Mike frowned, his hands becoming fists not from anger but to hide how they shook.

“You’re on your high horse about us treatin’ the boy badly,'' Lou smirked, knowing he had the upper hand. “But ya got yourself a nice little lapdog ain’t ya? At least we’re honest about how we feel about’m.”

“What’re you - “

But Mike couldn’t finish his thought because Micky was reentering the room and passing a cup of water into Bobby’s shaking hand. Both Bobby and Richie had been watching their argument play out with dull, faraway expressions. The only person in the room who didn’t have his eyes on them was Micky, and that was highly likely on purpose. 

Lou was satisfied by getting the last word and backed away, sitting next to Richie, who hadn’t said a word all night. He looked from Lou to Mike, his mouth agape.

Micky had sat across the aisle from Bobby, Richie and Lou and his knees were tucked to his chest. He was playing with his shoelaces, pretending he didn’t notice the tension in the room. Mike chose his side of the aisle next to Micky.

An excruciating ten minutes passed. Mike wasn’t sure what Lou had been implying by what he had said - whether he knew about him and Micky, or if he just thought that Micky was hung up on Mike and he was using it to his advantage. He figured the latter, but he couldn’t be exact on how far Lou thought he would go with manipulating Micky. 

Micky was bouncing his leg in the awkward silence, and it snapped Mike out of his silent reverie. “I need a cigarette,” he announced, and grabbed Micky by the wrist. He cringed as he did it. But it wasn’t like that, and Micky knew it. He hoped that Micky knew it.

It was cold outside without a jacket. He had forgotten to grab one in all of the rush, and the adrenaline and the plain and raw fear kept him from noticing the cold for most of the night. He sat in the front seat of the pickup, and Micky sat in the passenger, holding out a cigarette.

“You got a light?” he asked. Micky flicked open his lighter and Mike cupped his hand around it, the cigarette shaking between his lips. It seemed to take forever for it to light. The parking lot was dark, save for the light from the moon, and a few weak streetlights. The burning tip of the cigarette glowed red in the darkness. 

Mike took a long drag of the cigarette and it seemed to flip a switch within him. “Fuck,” he cursed underneath his breath, hitting the steering wheel with his palm, before leaning on it with his elbow, and resting his forehead on his hand.

“Mike, the cigarette,” Micky fussed, coming out sounding small and distanced. “You’ll get ash in your hair.”

“I don’t care,” Mike said with a shaky voice. Only then did the tears spill over, heavy droplets spilling over his chin. “I shoulda s-said something to her. I knew and I d-didn’t do anything about it.”

“Mike, you wouldn’t be able to stop her just by asking nicely,” Micky said gently, keeping his voice soft and soothing. He didn’t say  _ ‘It’s not your fault’  _ but it was what he had meant all the same.

“I coulda tried,” he sobbed. Micky didn’t say anything in return, only took the cigarette from in between Mike’s fingers and didn’t smoke any of it himself. Mike’s crying was mostly silent, but every now and then he would take a rasping breath and his chest hitch as if it was trying to cave in on itself. “Micky I don’t - “ he wiped the tears from his eyes “ - I don’t wanna force you to stay. Because God knows I’m never gettin’ outta here now. I’m not … I don’t … I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do just so I’m not lonely. You should just go home while you still can.”

Micky knew it wasn’t the right time to try to convince Mike to go with him, even though he knew he wouldn’t be leaving without him, so instead he said, “I want to stay, so I’m stayin’. I’ve already stuck around longer than anyone thought I would, so I’m not taking any of that shit from you, Mike. I’m not leaving you.”

Mike looked at the boy across from him in the passenger seat, straining in the dark to see just how he looked in that moment and thought,  _ oh God, I’m in love with him _ . But he couldn’t say it out loud because no matter what Micky said, they both knew he would be leaving, and soon, and that Mike could not go with him. He didn’t want to say it before it was due, when it could only be used for guilt. He had the loneliest thought that perhaps there wouldn’t ever be a time he could say it freely without consequence. He thought that Micky deserved to know, at least. Know that he was loved.

With a sharp intake of breath, Mike kissed him, sudden and hard and fast, hoping it would be able to say  _ something,  _ at least. Mike tasted like smoke and tobacco and nicotine and salt. He held both sides of Micky’s face in his hands, trying to remember how it all felt. He was suddenly and achingly aware that he was on borrowed time.

Mike pulled away a lot gentler than how he had pulled in, and rested his forehead against Micky’s. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Micky smiled, and his eyes were watering a little, too. “It’s okay.”

They stayed pressed against each other, eyes closed, quiet breathing, for a long time, before Mike sniffed and Micky was saying, “We should go back inside, Mike.”

Mike pulled him in for one last hug, pressing his face into Micky’s neck and squeezing tight.

The lights of the waiting room burned his eyes and he squinted against them. He resumed his position sitting across the aisle from Lou, who had watched him and Micky from the moment they came through the door. Bobby had his head resting on his knees, looking worse for wear. Richie was sleeping in his chair.

“Mike,” Lou said, with the intention of grabbing his attention, even though they had been watching each other carefully. Maybe it was more a display of dominance. As June had once said, Mike was pretty low on the pecking order, and Lou wasn’t going to let him forget it. “Take Bobby’n go home. And take the _ kid  _ with you.”

‘Kid’ was more likely to describe Richie than Micky, but from the way he had said it, he had meant Micky. Mike stood, made a small, quick whistle and tilted his head to tell Micky to follow him and came to Bobby’s side. That was when he made the fuss he had been anticipating all night.

“No, no, no, Mikey,” he whined, leaning his head back on the wall, his eyes squeezed tight. “Don’t wanna go, Mike,  _ please. _ ”

“C’mon, Bobby, stand up,” Mike insisted. Bobby frowned.

“That’s my  _ wife  _ in there, asshole,” he argued, voice raising and changing in attitude. “I should be allowed to stay, she’s  _ my  _ wife, I - I - “

“Shoulda thought of that when you ran off to get pissed,” Mike heard Lou grumble.

Bobby kept rambling and arguing, but it had been a long night, and Bobby was probably barely holding on to his dinner. Micky and Mike grabbed him by the arms, and at most he tugged lightly and dragged his feet. He whimpered as they placed him in the backseat. Mike wished he would never have to see another grown man acting like a child again. 

They took Jo’s car, leaving the truck for Lou and Richie. Another silent trip home. The sun was rising by the time they pulled up to the ranch, and the sky was painted with oranges and yellows by the time they got Bobby into his own room. Outside the door, Mike caught Micky’s hand and held it lightly between his fingers. Micky looked at him, waiting for him to speak. “I hate to ask you for so much, but … can you stay with me tonight?"

Micky nodded. "Of course."

In Mike's room, Micky stripped down to his boxers, more so he didn't have to sleep in the same clothes he had been wearing all night than anything. Mike didn't seem to care as much, or simply didn't notice, as he only slipped off his shoes and socks and fell back onto his bed. Micky curled up beside him and within minutes they were asleep.

Mike thought he could remember waking up every few hours, seeing strips of daylight shining through the gaps in the curtains, and pulling Micky closer to him before dozing off once again


	9. Please Say It's Alright

Mike woke up in the afternoon to Micky still beside him, but awake and twirling Mike’s hair around his fingers. Mike’s cheek rested against his chest.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Micky whispered. 

Mike felt the instinct to apologise again - for what, he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe for sleeping so late, for being selfish enough to need Micky by his side despite the danger, for loving him, for not having enough time. There were a million reasons and most of them irrational. But still he felt compelled to say sorry.

“Did you sleep well?” Micky asked. Mike gave a  _ ‘hmph’,  _ unwrapped his arms from around Micky and sat up, his back against the headboard. 

“I don’t remember sleepin’,” he answered, wiping at his eyes. “Just closed my eyes and opened them again and time’d passed.”

"Mm," Micky hummed, laying his head on Mike's chest and drawing circles with his finger. Mike was still in his jeans from the night before and a wrinkled white t-shirt that bunched underneath Micky's fingertip.

"How do you suppose we sneak you out?" Mike asked, knowing they couldn't stay in each other's arms forever.

"Won't need to," Micky replied. "Lou and Richie aren't back yet. I heard Bobby talking to them on the phone. June's gettin' out later tonight, I think."

"That's good news," Mike said, though he was still so exhausted and frayed at the edges it was difficult to put much feeling into his words.

Mike ran a hand through Micky's hair, guilt following every movement he made. What Lou had said the night before was festering inside of him. He told himself it was stupid to believe a word of it. What the hell did Lou know about anything?

But Micky would have to leave soon, and neither of them spoke of it, and Mike couldn't help but get the feeling that it was his fault that Micky wouldn't just rip the bandaid off and do what was best for him.

Micky stood and got dressed. He leaned over and kissed Mike on the forehead when he was done.

"I'm heading out, babe," he said, though he held onto Mike's bicep for a moment longer. 

"Be careful of Bobby, okay?" Mike said. Micky chuckled.

"He'll be nursing a hangover," he assured Mike. "But yeah, I'll be careful."

Mike watched him leave, then buried his head in the pillows and stayed in bed for the rest of the day. He didn't go back to sleep and time was slow passing, but Mike didn't feel like doing much else. He tried to read a bit but closed the book soon after. He opened his notebook but wrote nothing. June did come home that night, but nobody felt much like celebrating. A silence hung heavy and low over the Big House.

Word had spread to the staff by the next morning, and Mike could tell that Lou blamed Micky for it. But the whole ordeal hadn't exactly been subtle - there were a million different ways that people could have found out that didn't involve Micky at all. That didn't mean anything to Lou though, who seemed intent on proving that Micky was bad news. 

Most of the staff hung their heads low, avoiding Mike's gaze. Apart from Jo.

"How is she?" she asked as they passed each other outside.

"Better," was all Mike could say. In all honesty, he didn't know too much about how June was at all. No one had cared to fill him in. "Thanks for lettin' us use your car."

"It's no trouble," she shrugged. "Mike, if you ever need anything, you can just ask me." She thought for a moment, then added, "Or Micky."

"Thanks," he said again with a half-hearted smile.

They had a big dinner that night, when everyone was starting to feel a bit better. June looked the most exhausted out of all of them, though Bobby and Lou weren't too far behind. Richie had been a lot quieter throughout the night, but slowly he was regaining a sense of his old self and cracking a slew of jokes, not many of them at Mike's expense, for once. And even the ones that were, Mike let slide. 

Mike finished his plate and left early for bed. Before he made his journey up the stairs he stood beside June and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Nice to have you back," he said, quiet so only she could hear over the other conversations in the room.

"Thanks, Mike," she sighed, wearing a weary smile that didn't contain much happiness at all. 

Mike felt sick to his stomach as he climbed the stairs. June was completely unaware of the guilt that was scratching at the back of his throat. How could she thank him when this had all been his fault? 

While the remorse scratched at him, disgust rose like bile, and it took him a long time to be able to sleep.


	10. Get Your Mind Off Winter Time

Life continued to go on, despite the circumstances, whether Mike liked it or not. Animals needed to be fed, stables needed to be cleaned, cattle needed to be rounded up for vaccinations. With June down for the count for a while, resting, Bobby failed to pick up the slack. He was disorganised, things took longer to get done, and he didn’t have half a mind for the book-keeping aspect of the job. Things that needed doing just didn’t get done, and the cracks running through the ranch only got more obvious with every day that passed. The cracks had always been there, of course, but nobody had realised just how much June held the place together until she wasn’t available anymore.

Mike found himself in Micky’s room almost every night, most of the time just to be able to sleep with someone there beside him. Micky would stay up reading underneath the dim lamp light with his circle spectacles on his nose while Mike laid on the bed, his arms wrapped around Micky’s waist and his head on his chest. Micky would hum songs that Mike didn’t know while he read and pet at his hair, twirling it around his fingers, until Mike fell asleep, always waking up early in the morning to sneak back to his room. Most everyone was too distracted to notice anything wrong.

Mike wondered if the guilt would ever pass. Micky never gave any signs that Mike was taking too much (in fact, Micky seemed plenty eager himself), and yet he kept trying to condemn his own greed and selfishness. Lou’s accusation was a splinter he couldn’t dig out. He so desperately wanted Micky to stay and the thought terrified him.

He worried about a lot of things. He worried about how much time they had left. He worried about how his life would change when Micky was gone. He worried about how Micky would get to California, if he would get there safely. Micky never brought the topic of leaving and Mike didn’t want to touch it with a 50-foot-pole if Micky wasn’t going to do it first.

So Mike continued to cling to every minute he could get alone with Micky and hoped to god that he wouldn’t get sick of him.

Mike was driving down the highway into town with Micky in the passenger seat, entertaining a daydream about driving and driving and not stopping until they got to Burbank. But he was fed up with wishing and hoping for a different outcome that never came, so instead he focused on what was already in front of him. 

When Lou had asked him to head into town that afternoon to grab some feed and some equipment for the stables, Mike’s first thought was to ask Micky to make the trip with him. Now Micky was in the car beside him, as happy as he always was, looking out the window and laughing at his own jokes while Mike blushed. A Hank Williams song was playing on the radio and Micky was singing along, mumbling the words he didn’t know. 

“ _ She’ll do me, she’ll do you,”  _ he sang with a laugh and an over the top imitation of Hank William’s accent. “Do you know the words, Mike?”

“‘Course I do,” Mike replied over the song.

“Sing with me then!” Micky demanded.

“Why?” Mike asked with a chuckle. Micky pouted and practically bounced in his seat.

“Because it’s fun and I wanna hear it,” Micky argued.

Mike could rarely say no to Micky. With a sigh he picked up the song, exaggerating his accent for Micky’s amusement and yodelling at the top of his lungs. Micky laughed more than sang. It was nice to be pulled from his own thoughts for a moment. Micky seemed to have that effect on him.

It didn’t take too long to find everything he had to buy and haul it into the backseat of the pickup truck. It seemed like a waste of an outing, though, to head home so quickly when the sun was still out and the day was so nice.

They had just put the bag of dog food in the truck and closed the door, when Mike turned to Micky, making up his mind. “I know this place that does good milkshakes, if you wanted to stop in there before we go home?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Micky asked with a smirk.

“Maybe so,” Mike said, with a small smile of his own, looking down at his shoes.

“How could I ever say no?” Micky said, his smile now wide and genuine, and swung himself into the passenger seat.

It was late afternoon, and Micky had wound down the windows. The wind blew past them and messed up Mike’s hair as they drove down the road. The radio was playing a different song, Johnny Cash, that Micky hummed along to, barely audible above the other sounds from outside. The sun shone down on them, blanketing their legs and faces, but it had mostly lost its bite by that time. 

In the parking lot, when Mike came around to the other side of the car, Micky giggled at him and reached up to smooth down his hair and brush out the knots that had formed with his fingers. Gentle expressions like that seemed to come easy to him, while Mike had to constantly look out to see if anyone was watching them. But it was quiet in town that day, and nobody was around. It wasn’t the first time that he wondered if things would be easier in California, that he wouldn’t have to constantly be looking over his shoulder. But he would never be able to get an answer to those questions, so he pushed the thought away.

Mike paid for both of their milkshakes (chocolate for himself and caramel for Micky). 

“Nobody’s ever paid for my food before,” Micky commented, as they sat down.

“Really? Not ever?” Mike asked, not believing that it could have been the first time.

“Well, maybe once or twice,” Micky conceded with a tip of his head. “As a way of flirting. But I told you, barely anyone I’ve been with was interested in that kind of relationship.”

What was Mike supposed to say to that? That he  _ was _ interested in that kind of relationship? 

“I don’t get that at all,” Mike said. “I’ve told you before but you deserve more’n that. There’s no way in hell ain’t nobody thought the same.”

Micky rested his head on the palm of his hand as he sipped at his straw. “Maybe they thought it, but they didn’t show it.”

Mike felt pride beaming within him. At least he had managed to get something right. It was some confirmation that Lou’s words that he was so irrationally hung up on were untrue.

“Tell me a story, Mick,” Mike said, out of nowhere. Micky raised an eyebrow.

“What about?” He asked. “I think I’ve told you all of my stories already.”

“I dunno, just … '' Mike shrugged and fiddled with his straw. He just wanted to hear Micky’s voice. “What’s the news from your parents? What’d they tell you in their latest letter?”

“Oh, um,” Micky replied, trying to remember the contents of the letter his mother had sent him. “Not much, I think. Mom’s reading this book she thinks I’d like. She hasn’t gotten far into it, so she didn’t give me much of a summary. But you don’t really care about that. Coco’s got a part time job, dad’s going on a fishing trip next week. Just boring stuff, you know?”

“I don’t think it’s boring at all,” Mike said without elaborating.

“What about you?” Micky asked. “What boring things have your family been up to?”

“Well,” Mike began, taking his turn to think. “Ma’s been trying some new recipes that she wants to cook for me when I visit home, Gram’s saving up for a guitar and he wants me to teach him some things. Jeanie’s turning eighteen soon. I think that’s all.”

Micky held up his milkshake. “To menial domesticity,” he said, and tapped his glass with Mike’s. Micky smiled at him, and he smiled back. Mike had always enjoyed hearing tales of ordinary, everyday happenings. He liked imagining settling down, getting comfortable and being content. Maybe that was why he had stayed at the ranch so long - it was familiar and (somewhat) stable, even if he had had to sacrifice the ‘comfortable’ aspect of his ambitions. Compromise was better than nothing at all. But now that he had Micky, he was wondering if his mindset was beginning to change.

“Did I tell you about what happened to Clancy?” Micky asked. Mike shook his head. “Well, I was talking to Jo and she was telling me how she heard Clancy talking on the phone, and he seemed pretty pissed off. So she asked him what was happening when he was done, and he just broke down  _ crying,  _ like, absolutely a  _ wreck.  _ And, get this, he told her that his girlfriend back home’s pregnant! And obviously, since he’s been stuck here for months, he’s not the father. So my bet’s that he won’t be sticking around much longer.”

“No foolin’?” Mike asked, even though he hadn’t known Micky to be a liar.

“Yeah,” Micky nodded enthusiastically, getting carried away with gossiping. “Imagine that, Clancy running off before  _ me.  _ Meanwhile everyone thought I wouldn’t last a day. And anyway … “

Micky kept rambling, as he frequently did, jumping from one story to another with reckless abandon. But Mike had long gotten used to Micky’s habits and was getting better at not losing track of what line of thinking he was on at any given moment as he nodded along. 

They ended up spending longer out than Mike had intended. The sun was making its descent as they drove home, painting them in golden light. Mike had to fight to keep his eyes on the road and away from Micky.

Mike parked at the back of the barn. The sun was blocked out by the building, casting a cool blue shadow over the two of them as they stood by the truck, knowing they had to get the things they had bought out of the back, but not particularly wanting the day to end. Micky scanned the area, then turned to Mike with an impish smile. 

“Nobody’s around,” he commented. Mike returned his smile as Micky moved closer to him, placing hands on his hips as he had done many times before. Micky backed him against the truck, and Mike pulled him into a kiss that he had been hoping to be able to steal all day.

Mike was smiling against Micky’s lips, and only beginning to lean into him, when he heard another voice speak. “Micky? Mike?”

Mike jumped and pushed himself as far away from Micky as he could, flattening himself against the side of the truck. Micky startled the same as Mike, spinning around to look at the owner of the voice, though one of his hands still lingered on Mike’s waist without realising it.

“Jo?” Mike asked with an uncharacteristic squeak. Micky seemed to notice his hand and pulled it away like it scorched. “I-It’s not - “ Shit. There was no excuse he could use for the situation he had found himself in.

“You two are …” she trailed off. Between the three of them, nobody seemed to know what to say - not even Micky. Mike’s eyes flicked between Jo and Micky, hoping he wouldn’t have to take the lead. Micky’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish.

“We …” he started. “Mike and I … It’s just …”

Mike had no idea what Micky was trying to say and he didn’t think Micky knew either. Luckily, Jo saved him from having to fumble until he figured it out. “I-I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” Jo said quickly. “I promise I won’t tell.”

Micky sighed in relief, while Mike still stood pressed against the door of the pickup. “Thank you,” Micky said, breathing each word with another sigh.

Jo nodded to him and backed away with an embarrassed looking expression. “I’m sorry,” she said, before practically bolting away. They watched her go. Mike figured his cheeks were probably beet red and he felt the heat rising from his ears. His arms and legs felt stiff and unable to move.

“That could have gone worse,” Micky chuckled weakly, with an equally weak smile to match. Mike nodded. His neck felt stiff too. He was unsure if he was imagining it creaking as he gave his miniscule nod. From Micky’s concerned look, his nod hadn’t been very convincing (he hadn’t expected it to be, it was just a formality), and his eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets. Micky laid a hand on Mike’s arm. “Hey, it’s okay. I trust Jo to keep her word.”

Mike moved properly for the first time, slumping against the truck and running his hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and blew out the breath he had been holding. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Mick.” Not for the first time, he wished he wasn’t in Texas. He didn’t figure it was much better elsewhere, but surely things had to be easier had they not been living on a ranch.

“It’s okay, it was my fault,” Micky said quietly, looking at his shoes. “I should have been more careful, I’m sorry.”

Mike shook his head. “Let’s just get this shit outta the car,” he said, unable to keep a sigh out of his voice. 

Micky nodded and opened the door. Though fear was still making his whole body feel tense and awkward, Mike still squeezed Micky’s shoulder as a way to say that he didn’t blame him for what had happened either.


	11. Take It As It Comes

It had been a cruel reminder that they had to be more careful. The both of them had gotten more than a little too comfortable, and it had ended up in them getting carried away. 

Mike enjoyed checking on the cattle in the mornings with Micky. It meant being far away from the main hubbub of the ranch, where they were unlikely to be interrupted. It wasn’t often they had a brief moment of respite away from the depressing atmosphere that had encircled the ranch ever since June had come back from hospital. She was doing better, slipping back into her old roles, coming out of her room more often, but still, the staff and the family were all walking on eggshells even when she wasn’t in the room. It was suffocating.

Worse was the embarrassment Mike felt whenever Jo saw the two of them even standing next to each other. She had apologised to Mike some days later, keeping her voice low in case anybody intruded on their conversation.

“I’m sorry about walkin’ in on ya, Mike,'' she had said, looking away as she did so. “I don’t … I swear I won’t tell Lou or Bobby or nobody, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks, Jo,” Mike mumbled, unsure of what else to say. He was warmed by the kind gesture at least - not many others would have afforded him anything more than a punch between the eyes.

“And I’m not condemning you for it, ya dig?” She continued, obviously unsure of how exactly to get her point across while the self-consciousness made her dance around the topic at hand. “I’m not, y’know, like that … I don’t take any problems with it.”

“Thanks,” Mike repeated. “That means a lot ‘round here.”

And it did. Mike was grateful for Jo’s open-mindedness. But he felt so goddamn mortified by the conversation that he was glad it had ended. He was appreciative for it at least, but it was just a band-aid that desperately needed to be ripped off.

Now Mike was taking Micky to check on the cattle. Micky had watched Mike grab the shotgun he had never seen him actually have to use before and saddled up the horses for the both of them and then they were off, like the morning before that one, and the morning before that one, and so on. It didn’t take long for Micky to start chatting, as he always did. He couldn’t seem to keep quiet for very long, but Mike certainly didn’t mind hearing him.

“The boys’ve been saying that June’s been feeling better,” Micky commented. Mike wished he had brought up another topic.

“She’s been lookin’ better,” Mike nodded. “She doesn’t really fill me in, just pretends nothing’s wrong. I don’t know.”

“How have you been going?” Micky asked. “With everything?”

“What’re ya askin’ that for?” Mike scoffed, turning his gaze to look at Micky. “You see me every day.”

“Well, you never really talk about it, ‘s’all,” Micky shrugged.

“‘Cause I don’t  _ wanna _ ,” Mike replied. “And anyway, I don’t got nothin’ to say. It ain’t about me, and it ain’t my place to complain.”

“You’re only human, Mike,” Micky said, and Mike wished he could find some way out of this. 

“I just … don’t like to think about it,” Mike said, his voice going quiet. Truth be told, he could hardly face June. He was too afraid to ask anybody, Bobby or Lou or June herself, about the specifics of the situation. The less he knew the better, in his opinion - at least then he could use obliviousness as a scape-goat from the guilt he felt over his inaction. He didn’t think he could get any more selfish than that. Other than, of course, his longing to just run away and leave it all behind, which certainly added another tally to the counter of Mike’s selfishness. “The days just keep going by, ya dig? So I just keep goin’ with ‘em. It’s the only thing for it.”

“Okay,” Micky said, though it felt more like placation than agreement. And then, just like that, Micky had changed the subject entirely to how his breakfast that morning had tasted exactly like how Sunday mornings had felt as a kid, as if nothing had happened at all.

Their conversation crawled to a halt as they approached where a group of cattle were huddled together, bunched tight like sardines. Micky, none the wiser, moved to get off of his horse, but Mike held up a hand to stop him.

“What?” Micky asked, an edge to his voice. Mike pointed to the cattle.

“They’re all bunched up,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Means they’re scared of something.”

Mike pushed himself off of his horse, and kept his shotgun in hand, scanning the area. Micky followed suit, standing on the ground and following a few paces behind Mike, keeping his eyes out. The ordeal, Mike’s grip in the gun, the tension in the atmosphere as he anticipated what was to come, sent a jolt of adrenaline through his spine.

“An animal?” Micky asked, not quite whispering, but keeping his voice quieter than usual. He saw Mike nod.

Micky walked to the fence and looked out at the open field beyond them. He felt another jolt - he wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement or both - as he caught sight of what was scaring the cattle.

“Mike,” Micky hissed, gripping the wooden fence post. “Mike,  _ look.” _

Mike came to Micky’s side and looked to where Micky was pointing frantically. Micky didn’t have to elaborate on where the animal was, it wasn’t too far away (definitely within shooting distance) and Mike saw it just fine once he knew where to look.

“Step back,” Mike warned, and Micky obliged. “I’m an awful shot.”

Micky watched with bated breath as Mike held the gun close to his face and aimed. He spent a long time, not speaking, waiting for Mike to shoot. He was worried that the animal would run away before he did anything. But finally,  _ finally,  _ with a loud bang, Mike pulled the trigger and hit the animal, right on target.

“Awful shot, huh?” Micky chuckled, his voice a little pitchy and weak from the tension that had been building. Mike smiled bashfully and lowered the shotgun. Without a word, he crossed over to where the animal had fallen, lifting the wire of the fence and stepping through. Micky followed him, running to catch up and stand by Mike’s side. Mike kicked the animal a little - it twitched, but didn’t move. “A coyote?”

Mike laughed a little. “Yeah, but you’re sayin’ it wrong.”

“What d’you mean?” Micky asked. “No I’m not.”

“You’re sayin’ it kai-oh-tee,” Mike explained, with a hand on his hip and an amused expression on his face. “It’s ki-yote.”

“Well that just sounds awful,” Micky argued, twisted his face into exaggerated disgust.

Mike shoved him gently and smiled, but it faded quick as he looked down at the coyote. He hated having to do things like this. He was tired of country life. He figured he had just about had enough of all of this - the blisters on his heels from his boots, the smell of metal and gunpowder on his hands, the sunburn from staying out in the sun too long. Texas was running him dry.

Micky’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, as it so often did.

“You look handsome with a gun in your hand,” Micky commented, a playful smirk on his face. Then he tilted his head, looking for a better descriptor in his head. “Rugged,” he decided.

Mike’s face cracked into a wide smile that had a hint of shyness. He pulled Micky in to his side and kissed his cheek. “C’mon let’s get goin’.”

“You’re like a real cowboy now,” Micky said as they walked back to the horses, shoulder to shoulder.

“And I wasn’t before?” Mike asked. “Can’t you tell from my hat? This is a  _ genuine _ cowboy hat.”

Lou was waiting near the stables when they returned, his arms crossed, and although Mike couldn’t make out his face from far away, he could tell he was scowling. He had been wound up lately, and it looked like the two of them were in for it.

Lou waited for them to get off the horses before he started in on them. The second Mike paid him any attention, he opened his mouth to speak. “You’ve been gone all morning.”

“So we have,” Mike commented, keeping his hands busy by slinging his gun off of his back and setting it aside, then moving onto the horse’s saddle. He didn’t bother asking Lou to cut to the chase. He didn’t expect Lou to drop it if Mike didn’t react, but in all honesty, he didn’t want to hear it and attempted to delay the inevitable.

“I’m tired of you always running away and goofin’ off with Dolenz,” Lou griped, acting as if Micky wasn’t even there, focusing only on Mike. “You’ve got work to do and you’re wasting everybody’s time.”

Mike had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Just a few weeks ago, Lou had constantly been wasting time with Richie. But now that Bobby was useless, he was trying to play leader. “I’ll have you know that we were dealin’ with a coyote, and we’re lucky we got there at the right time. So quit your yapping.”

Lou obviously didn’t like being wrong, because he looked like he was raring to argue back, from the tightness of his posture and the puff of his chest. Mike prepared himself for whatever outburst he came up with as a rebuttal, but instead it was Micky who spoke next, cutting off Lou’s train of thought, and announcing his presence.

“I’m gonna help Jo in the stables, Mike,” he said, with a glance to Lou to make sure his interruption had wound him down. Lou looked back, unable to ignore him for much longer. Micky turned back to Mike, who nodded, with a grateful look in his eye that almost seemed proud of his move to distract Lou. “See ya.”

Both Lou and Mike watched him leave, leading his horse into the stable. When Lou turned back to Mike, his mouth was pressed into a thin line.

“You were sayin’?” Mike asked, with a hint of a smirk that he tried to suppress.

“Forget it,” he spat and stalked off, muttering something under his breath that Mike wasn’t able to catch.

But Lou didn’t forget it himself. By the end of the day, Mike had finished his chores and was ready to heat up some leftovers for dinner and call it a day. But Lou was sitting in the living room, and his goals changed to getting past him without drawing attention to himself. Lou, however, had been seething most of the day, and would not let Mike go so easily.

Mike wasn’t two steps through the door when Lou spoke. “I don’t like that kid, Mike.”

“I know you don’t,” Mike said back, crossing his arms.

Lou didn’t move from his position on the couch. He bit at the edges of his thumb nail. “I don’t think he’s good for you.”

Mike felt his chest instinctively skip a beat at his wording. But if he had meant it how Mike feared he had, he would have said it a lot more harshly. Maybe even have followed it with a sucker punch. “Since when d’you know about what’s good for me?”

“The boy’s a distraction,” Lou continued, ignoring what Mike had said. “‘N’ worse’n that, he’s a queer, and you don’t wanna hang ‘round no queers.”

“You don’t even know him,” Mike argued, not technically lying. He knew he was a terrible liar, and Lou would be able to tell in an instant.

“You think I don’t notice things but I do,” Lou replied, still chewing on his thumb. He was acting calm still, and that almost made things worse. “The way he looks at you makes me sick to my stomach, and you don’t even know it. Or you do know it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you  _ were  _ usin’ it to your advantage.”

“If he makes you so sick, then fire him.” Mike had been attempting to distance himself from Micky; act as if he didn’t care  _ too  _ much about him, but he wished he had said something else lest Lou take it seriously. “I’m not gonna pretend I don’t know someone I see every day just because you’ve got a fragile ego.”

Lou was silent for a long enough time that Mike figured he didn’t have anything else to say to him, and moved to start climbing the stairs. He had gotten to the first step when Lou piped up again.

“Just don’t be surprised if people start to wonder where your loyalties lie,” he drawled.

Mike didn’t reply. He skipped dinner and went straight to his room.


	12. I Am Leaving, I Am Leaving (But The Fighter Still Remains)

Mike was laying on his side. He sighed in contentment as he reached out for Micky, bare skin underneath his fingertips. Micky was sitting up against the headboard, smoking, while Mike lay with his eyes closed, but not sleeping. Micky had opened the window with the hopes of the smoke wafting out of the room, but it hadn’t done much in ways of ventilation. But still, Mike could just make out the smell of the countryside underneath the smell of cigarettes. 

He brushed his thumb back and forth over Micky’s waist, and when that wasn’t enough, he pulled himself closer, his arm wrapped around his hips, his head resting on his stomach. Micky placed a hand in Mike’s hair, gently playing with the hair at the back of his head that had been getting longer without him realising it.

“Am I boring you?” Micky asked, though it wasn’t a question of insecurity, more of a teasing way to ask if Mike wanted to sleep.

“Naw, I’m listening,” Mike mumbled. “Just resting.”

A light was still on in the house, and it shone yellow underneath the door, not quite hitting the bed. But it didn’t matter much. Lying in the dark with Micky was its own kind of heaven. 

“What do you think’ll be on the agenda for tomorrow?” Micky asked.

“More of the same, I s’pose,” Mike replied, shifting his head a little bit so it was easier for him to talk. “Cleaning, fixing things that’ve been broken, getting yelled at by Bobby.”

“Hope I don’t have to clean the barn again,” Micky said with a ‘ _ blegh’  _ sound to accompany it. “It always gets so gross.”

“‘Specially when you were livin’ in there,” Mike commented. “Gets ten times grosser whenever you’re in it.”

“You callin’ me gross?” Micky asked with an incredulous sounding giggle and a swat to the back of Mike’s head.

“Maybe,” Mike smiled. He closed his eyes again.

“Are you tired?” Micky asked, resuming petting Mike’s hair.

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna leave just yet,” Mike replied.

“Okay,” Micky said.

He didn’t want to leave at all, but he would have to. He thought he would be content to live in this moment, his arms around Micky, simply breathing in air and smoke and lying naked next to this beautiful boy, legs entwined, for the rest of his life. With no words left to speak, Micky went to fill the silence with humming, occasionally singing a few words of the song in his head when he remembered them.  _ “There I met a fair young maiden,”  _ he sang. Micky was always singing and still Mike could never get enough of hearing it. 

Once Micky had finished his song, Mike separated himself, full of regret. Micky turned on the lamp on the bedside table for him to find his clothes, and not for the first time and certainly not the last he wondered how much time they had left, and if either of them would ever mention the ticking clock. But Mike didn’t want to spoil the time they had together, and so he said nothing.

“I’ve got to go back, babe,” Mike said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mike pulled Micky in for a quick goodbye kiss. “Mm,” he hummed against Mike’s lips, and when they parted he said, “If I’m cleanin’ the barn tomorrow, I’m gonna make you help me out.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mike smirked as he climbed out the window. He watched Micky smile and wave at him as he left, then he reached to turn off the lamp and Mike could see only a faint outline of his silhouette.

He readied himself for his solitary journey back to his room. On the way, he had to pass the picnic bench, and that was where he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He froze.

His first thought was a wild animal, or one of the dogs had gotten out. But when he froze, his eyes met another pair of human eyes. Several feet away, sitting on the far end of the bench, was Lou, a cigarette between his lips that he crushed underneath his boot as he stood. He didn’t seem surprised to see Mike.

“What’re you doing out so late, Mike?” Lou drawled, achieving an almost cartoonishly antagonistic presence as he came out of the shadows. Mike stood a little straighter.

“I thought I heard the dogs get out,” he said, trying his best to keep a poker face. “I was going to investigate what I heard.”

“I know you’re lyin’,'' Lou said with a smirk. “So you can quit tryin’ to find excuses.”

Mike felt like asking,  _ ‘then why did you ask? If you already knew?’,  _ but he knew exactly why Lou had prompted him to lie. He was fucking with him.

“See, I don’t like that kid, but like you said, I don’t hardly know him,” Lou continued, casually picking at his fingernails, as if this was just a casual discussion between friends. “So I asked around about him. Initially I was only askin’ about Dolenz, but the conversation always ended up mentioning you anyway. Practically joined at the hip, you two are. So, well then some of the guys said some things, aired out some suspicions and that got me  _ really  _ thinkin’. - “ He had bitten the nail of his thumb down to the quick as he spoke, and hissed with pain before shaking it out and stuffing it into the pocket of his jean jacket. “Sure, I’d had my own suspicions, but I figured that’s just not the thing you bring up without solid evidence to your family. I was willing to tell myself they weren’t true, on your end at least.”

Lou paused for a second, testing if Mike had anything to say about his monologue, any excuses or arguments. All he said was, “What’re you playing at?”

“I’m getting there, hold your horses,” Lou assured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “After I had asked about Micky, my questions became a little more specific. Started askin’ the right people - '' Mike had to suppress a sharp intake of breath at that, knowing there was one person who could say just the thing that Lou wanted to hear. “ - You’d be surprised how fast you can get some of the people around here to squeal when you threaten ‘em in just the right ways.”

“She’s lying,” Mike said, though it was an empty phrase that did nothing to convince anybody. 

“I’ve never known Jo to be a liar,” Lou hummed, definitely actively trying to sound condescending. He was finding every way to push Mike’s buttons. “And she didn’t seem exactly willing to tell me. But, in the end, not many people are immune to blackmail.”

Mike’s hands curled into fists, and Lou saw. He seemed to size Mike up. Mike had done the same and had figured he could probably take Lou, if he really had to. Except June would probably kill him in the morning for it, and he wasn’t sure if that was a battle he could win.

“The jig is up, Mikey,” Lou said, and Mike tensed up more. “Relax, I’m not gonna beat you for it. What I’m gonna do is give you a choice. The boy is no good, he’s leadin’ you astray. So either you get the hell out of dodge, or you send the kid back to where he came from before I tell everybody in the morning. You choose him or us.”

Mike heard the sound of blood rushing in his ears, heard his heart thumping in its cage. What could he say? There was nothing he could think of to get out of it.

He didn’t get a chance to speak. “Think about it,” Lou said, spitting on the ground before shoving both hands in his pockets and stalking off back to the house.

Without a second thought, Mike’s heels were bringing him right back to Micky’s window. Before he knew it he was pushing it open and slipping inside. He wasn’t looking for Micky’s reaction, but obviously he was awake, because with a soft click, the lamp was turned on.

“Mike?” Micky asked groggily. Maybe he had just been about to go to sleep. He had changed into his pyjamas since Mike had left. He took one look at Mike, bug-eyed and trembling as he stood up from the floor, and gulped. “Is everything alright?”

“Lou’s figured us out,” he explained, panting and out of breath. “He said either I go or you.”

Micky sucked in a quick breath. “W-Well, what do we do?” Micky asked, growing frantic at Mike’s hurried explanation. Mike rubbed his hands over his eyes.

“You’ve gotta go to California,” Mike replied, and it cut Micky to the bone. Mike hadn’t even hesitated. But Micky was too stunned to speak, so Mike continued, “We’ve always known you were gonna have to leave anyway I just … I just wish it wasn’t so soon.”

At that moment Micky knew that it wasn’t a question of whether Mike wanted Micky to be gone, but whether Micky wanted to stay with Mike. And he did.

“Come with me,” Micky proposed, and Mike’s gaze snapped from the floor to his face.

“I-I can’t,” Mike argued.

“Please, Mike,” Micky begged, stepping closer and grabbed hold of his sleeve, feeling the fabric bunching in his hands. Mike looked back to the floor, so Micky lifted his chin to look at him. “I don’t want to go without you.”

“I’ve got to stay,” Mike insisted, and Micky felt like crying. This was all too sudden. “I’ll … I’ll figure out how to get by, you don’t gotta worry about me.”

“I don’t want you to just get by,” Micky said, his tone pleading and desperate. “You’ll never be able to be happy here. You gotta look after yourself.”

Mike squeezed his eyes shut with his brows furrowed. Micky wasn’t sure what to say to convince Mike to come with him, so he let him think, caressing his arms and hoping Mike would open his eyes to look at him. His breathing was ragged and loud in the quiet room; Micky was hardly breathing at all, holding it for the moment Mike said anything.

“You’ll get tired of me,” was all Mike said, weak and quiet with his eyes still shut.

“I couldn’t,” Micky replied, squeezing Mike’s wrists and moving to hold both of his hands.

“You will,” he retorted. His eyes opened, and he looked back at Micky with sadness running deep within them. 

“I won’t,” Micky insisted. “I’m telling you I won’t.”

“You’ve gotta go home, Mick,” Mike said softly. He had a one track mind, and had spent who knows how long convincing himself that he would need to accept that he was going to be left behind. It was difficult for him to understand that Micky didn’t want what Mike thought he did. 

“It’s not gonna  _ be  _ my home if you’re not there with me,” Micky replied, his volume matching Mike’s. He tilted Mike’s head up again with his hand. “Please, Mikey, I can’t keep begging all night.”

Mike leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow and gentle, as if he was unsure of whether it was the right thing to do. Micky had never wanted any of their kisses to end, but especially not this one.

“Is that a yes or a goodbye?” Micky asked. Mike’s expression gave no answers away.

“Are you sure about this?” Mike asked back. “Really sure?”

“I’ve never felt surer about anything in my life,” Micky replied. They were still standing so close that their noses touched.

“Then it’s a yes,” Mike said, and kissed him again, more firm and sure of himself this time. More feverish and quick. He pulled away. “Just let me say my goodbyes.”

Mike waited by the door as Micky ruffled through his clothes drawer, picking out the first clean pair of pants and t-shirt he could find. The rest of his clothes he shoved into a duffel bag, followed by the various clutter of items on the desk. He didn't have much in his room that belonged to him other than clothes and books and stationery. Mike, however, would have to choose on what was worth keeping. His heart broke when he thought about having to abandon his record collection.

They took the front door to leave the Little House. There wasn't much point in being discreet anymore when they were going to be gone by the morning. They walked quickly across the dirt path that had been eroded away over the years to the Big House, staying silent. Dirt crunched loud underneath their boots. While not bothering with climbing out of windows, they still would rather not be confronted while trying to get away. Mike was doing the math in his head, figuring out how they would get off the ranch before morning. Would they hitchhike to town? Get a train? Hitch a ride all the way to California? Walk into town and take a bus?

Mike stopped Micky as they approached the back door of the Big House. "Lou's probably still awake, so we gotta be quiet. We'll be in and out in an instant, I just gotta grab some things and write a note for June."

Micky nodded and mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. It made Mike smile, despite the situation he had found himself in, and the tremor that was still rattling his bones. Mike opened the door slowly, wincing as it creaked ever so slightly. They crept up the stairs, Micky following Mike’s lead to stick to the edges instead of the middle so they didn’t squeak as much underneath their weight. Lou was still awake - his light was still on down the hall. Or maybe he had just left it on to mess with Mike. Either way, Mike was extra careful when opening his door and shuffling inside his room.

Micky had stayed true to his word, not letting out a single sound other than short, panicked breaths when something made too much noise. Inside his room, they were a little less careful about where they stepped with a few walls in between them and Lou. Mike dug around his closet for a duffel bag and stuffed as many clothes as he could fit in it. He only grabbed the necessities: clothes, his wallet, his songwriting notebook and pens, and a second pair of boots. He slung his acoustic guitar in its case over his back. He couldn’t just leave it. It had been a gift from his mother. She had saved up for months to afford it for him.

Micky watched from the door, anxiously fiddling with his hands as he waited. He kept staring as Mike leaned over the desk and ripped a page from his notebook and started writing, his handwriting coming out scrawled and shaky.

_ June, _

_ I’m sorry, but I have to go. I suspect by the time you read this letter, you’ll know the reason why. Or soon after, at least. I ain’t asking for forgiveness for what I’ve done, only forgiveness for running away. If you don’t like my decision, speak to your brother about it. He didn’t give me much choice. I can’t stay now. _

_ It’ll be hard for a bit and I’m sorry for that too. But you’ll get on without me - you always figure out how to get on. If I never speak to you again, know that I thought of you as an older sister, and I hope things turn out alright for you. _

_ Mike. _

He wished he hadn’t let himself get so catty in the first half of the letter, but he didn’t have enough time to write out another one and deliberate on his words. He wanted to get off the ranch as soon as possible. And, though he hated to admit it, he was bitter, and all too aware that June was part of the reason he couldn’t stay if the news got out. She wasn’t as bad as Lou or Bobby or Richie, but she was still unaccepting enough for him to fear how she would react. But he still cared for her too much to simply leave without an explanation in his own words.

Mike folded up the note and stuffed it in his pocket.

“You done?” Micky whispered. Mike nodded and picked up his duffel bag.

They crept back down the stairs with their bags in hand. Mike stopped outside Bobby and June’s bedroom door and turned to Micky, who hadn’t lost his worried look all night. Mike supposed he looked the same. He held up a hand and mouthed  _ ‘wait here’.  _ He set down his bag and ventured alone into the bedroom.

He kept his footsteps light as he walked past the bed. Bobby and June were both fast asleep. Bobby kept snoring as he snuck past to June’s side of the bed, where she slept facing the window, turned away from Bobby. Mike was hyper aware of every move that was made within the room: every breath, every sigh, every shift of the blanket. He made quick work of it, slipping the note out of his pocket and placing it on the bedside table. 

As he began the same process all over again when sneaking back out (making sure his guitar didn’t hit the walls or the bed posts and make a sound), he caught sight of the keys to the pickup on Bobby’s bedside table, glinting ever so slightly in the moonlight. On pure instinct, he snatched them up, keeping them clenched tight in his fist so they didn’t jangle. 

Micky seemed relieved to see him make it out. With a quick tilt of his head, he led Micky out through the back door. The second they were outside, Micky looked to him for guidance. “What’s the plan?” Micky’s eyes went wide as Mike showed him the car keys hanging from his pointer finger by the key ring. “Are you serious?”

“Sh,” was all Mike said as he beckoned him to follow. The truck wasn’t parked too far away, and once all their things were thrown in the back seat and they were sitting in front, Mike said. “If he didn’t want me to steal the truck, he should have given me more instructions than ‘get the hell out of dodge’. He was askin’ for it that point.”

It brought a smile to his face that he couldn’t hide. Stealing the car made it all feel more like revenge rather than cowardice.

He started up the car, the engine a roaring sound compared to the quiet night on the ranch. If Lou really was still awake he would have easily heard the car start. Mike thought he saw the ruffle of curtains in the upstairs window through the rearview mirror. But it hardly mattered - Mike was putting it into gear and practically tearing away from the Big House. Lou had still not caught up with them - if he was even trying to stop them - as they stopped at the gate, and Micky opened it before hopping back in the car, leaving it open as a final ‘fuck you.’

“We can stay with my parents for a while,” Micky offered on the way to town. “I-I’ll figure out some cover story, write them a letter and find a way to send it before we get there. We’ll have enough money between the two of us to get there.”

“Your parents won’t mind?” Mike asked. His brain was too jumpy to think about plans at the moment, but Micky, obviously, had been going through equations all night.

“It won’t be for long,” Micky reasoned. “We can both find work and a proper place to stay.”

“A place of our own?” Mike asked, working things out slower than Micky had. “Together?”

“Well, yeah,” Micky said. “If that’s okay. If that’s what you want.”

“That sounds nice.”

The shakiness didn’t wear off as they stopped into town, buying snacks and a map from a convenience store that was open all night. They felt like criminals, like runaways. Mike felt like any moment he would turn and there Lou or Bobby would be, ready to drag him back to the ranch and kick Micky to the curb. But there was only the two of them and the exhausted cashier working the night shift into the early morning. 

The entire night felt like a dream as they drove down the highway, the stars above them. It felt like Mike had been driving along the highway his entire life, and there was nothing before or after it. Micky was fidgeting in his seat, unable to wind down. He was flicking through the radio stations, looking for something he liked. He did, eventually. He laughed to himself, the song he landed on seemingly having some kind of comedy to it. He looked out at the empty plains and oak trees and nothingness that surrounded them. 

He had wound down his window as they exited town, and now he leant out, sticking his head out and singing to the wind at the top of his lungs. “ _ How does it feel! _ ” he more shouted than sang, laughing after every phrase. “ _ To be without a home! _ ” Mike didn’t feel nearly as energetic, but he sang along to the radio as well despite himself.

The sun was rising in the distant horizon by the time Micky had worn himself out. He was half asleep in the passenger seat as the sky turned orange and blue, while Mike stared straight ahead, thinking of things other than the road in front of him. He thought of his mother, if his cousins would tell her of the things her oldest son had been up to, if she would hate him for it just like Lou did. He wondered if he would still get to visit over the holidays, if Gram would still want him to teach him guitar. He knew in his heart that something like this would always happen eventually. He couldn’t hide forever while his family asked him why he never got married, and he wasn’t sure if he could stand settling down with a girl he couldn’t love and keeping a distance from her as she wondered what she was doing wrong for the rest of their lives. In all alternatives that could have been left for someone like him, this wasn’t too bad.

He reached out for Micky’s hand and held it in his and the thoughts stopped for a while. He squeezed it, held it up to his face, and kissed the knuckles. “I love you,” he said, and though Micky had been so quiet he could have been asleep, he thought he could feel his eyes open, his gaze on him.

“Love you too,” Micky said back, simply, casually, but the meaning was there and it was genuine. Micky didn’t take his hand away. Mike couldn’t be sure, but he thought Micky had fallen asleep after that. He continued staring at the white lines of the highway in front of him, thinking of all the things that would come with the life they would be starting together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy so that's the end,, overall i think this has some pacing issues and whatnot but. here it is. take it or leave it ig.


End file.
